I told you just now that we all have our
different ways of loving. You have loved in your way. You have loved
Delarey as your husband. And you have loved me as your friend.
Delarey, as your husband, betrayed you. Only to-day you know it. I, as
your friend--have I ever betrayed you? Do you believe--even now when
you are ready to believe very much of evil--do you really believe that
as a friend I could ever betray you?"
He moved, stood in front of her, lifted his hands and laid them on her
shoulders.
"Do you believe that?"
"No."
"You have loved us in your way. He is dead. But I am here to love you
always in my way. Perhaps my way seems to you such a poor way--it
must, it must--that it is hardly worth anything at all. But perhaps,
now that I know so much of myself--and of you"--there was a slight
break in his voice--"and of you, I shall be able to find a different,
a better way. I don't know. To-night I doubt myself. I feel as if I
were so unworthy. But I may--I may be able to find a better way of
loving you.
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