FLAMING
YOUTH
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261
How could he have let himself be so swept away! ... Pat stood before him in the doorway, and at once his bitter self-accusation sank into nothingness before the delight of her victorious charm. How could he have helped being carried away, loving her as he did!
She tossed her hat on the table, her gloves at him and herself into the arm chair. ‘‘Now we can talk,” said she. “Yow begin.” At their morning meeting it had seemed to him that the indeterminate and hovering tragedy of the James household had aged and sobered Pat, given more of the womanly to her elfin fascination. Now she seemed again all gamine, provocative, elusive, challenging. He stood looking down at her gravely. “Owl-face!”” she mocked, protruding the tip of a red tongue.
“Pat, will you marry me?” The smile died from her eyes and lips. “How could we? You’re married.” “Pll get free.” “How can you?” “T’d rather not tell you.” “You’ve got to tell me,” she retorted imperiously. “Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve got to, if you insist. You’ve the right to know.” She softened.
“Have I?
Tell me, then.”
“T have—evidence.” He spoke with an effort. “Against your wife?” “Ves,”
“Why haven’t you used it before?” “T haven’t wanted to. And—I considered that it would not be entirely honourable.” “Jf it wasn’t honourable before, how is it now?” de: manded the keen Pat.
