She made as if she would resist him, but finally, as he held her,
impulsively she yielded. She sobbed out her agony against his breast. And
he soothed her as he might have soothed a child.
But though presently he dried her tears, he did not kiss her. He spoke,
but his voice was devoid of all emotion.
"You are blaming the wrong person for all this. It wasn't Wentworth's
fault. He has probably been a crook all his life. It wasn't yours. You
couldn't be expected to detect it. But"--he paused--"don't you realise
now why I am offering you the only reparation in my power?" he said.
She was trembling, but she did not raise her head or attempt to move,
though his arms were ready to release her.
"No. I don't," she said.
Very steadily he went on: "You have not wronged me. It was I who did the
wrong. I could have made you see his guilt. It would have been infinitely
easier than establishing his innocence before the world. But--I have
always wanted the unattainable. I knew that you were out of reach, and so
I wanted you. Afterwards, very soon afterwards, I found I wanted even
more than what I had bargained for. I wanted your friendship. That was
what the sapphire stood for. You didn't understand. I had handicapped
myself too heavily. So I took what I could get, and missed the rest."
He stopped. She still lay against his breast.
"Why did you want--my friendship?" she whispered.
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