“Anita!” I cried, my arms stretched toward her.
But she only looked coldly at me, folded her arms the more tightly and
said:
“Do not misunderstand me. The bargain is the same as before. If you want me
on those terms, I must--give myself.”
“Why?” I asked.
A faint smile, with no mirth in it, drifted round the corners of her mouth.
“An impulse,” she said. “I don't quite understand it myself. An impulse
from--from--” Her eyes and her thoughts were far away, and her expression
was the one that made it hardest for me to believe she was a child of those
parents of hers. “An impulse from a sense of justice--of decency. I am the
cause of your trouble, and I daren't be a coward and a cheat.” She repeated
the last words. “A coward--a cheat! We--I--have taken much from you, more
than you know. It must be repaid. If you still wish, I will--will keep to
my bargain.”
“It's true, I'd not have got into the mess,” said I, “if I'd been attending
to business instead of dangling after you. But you're not responsible for
that folly.”
She tried to speak several times, before she finally succeeded in saying:
“It's my fault. I mustn't shirk.”