Part 12

“Then I shouldn't,” he counselled.

“But I ought to marry him.”

“OUGHT to marry him?”

She nodded.

“That is a strong word.”

“I know it is,” she acquiesced, while she strove to control her trembling lips. Then she spoke more calmly. “I am a wicked woman, a terribly wicked woman. No one knows how wicked I am--except Billy.”

There was a pause. Ned Bashford's face was grave, and he looked queerly at Loretta.

“He--Billy knows?” he asked finally.

A reluctant nod and flaming cheeks was the reply.

He debated with himself for a while, seeming, like a diver, to be preparing himself for the plunge.

“Tell me about it.” He spoke very firmly. “You must tell me all of it.”

“And will you--ever--forgive me?” she asked in a faint, small voice.

He hesitated, drew a long breath, and made the plunge.

“Yes,” he said desperately. “I'll forgive you. Go ahead.”

“There was no one to tell me,” she began. “We were with each other so much. I did not know anything of the world--then.”

She paused to meditate. Bashford was biting his lip impatiently.

“If I had only known--”

She paused again.

“Yes, go on,” he urged.

“We were together almost every evening.”

“Billy?” he demanded, with a savageness that startled her.

“Yes, of course, Billy. We were with each other so much... If I had only known... There was no one to tell me... I was so young--”

Her lips parted as though to speak further, and she regarded him anxiously.

“The scoundrel!”

With the explosion Ned Bashford was on his feet, no longer a tired Greek, but a violently angry young man.

“Billy is not a scoundrel; he is a good man,” Loretta defended, with a firmness that surprised Bashford.

“I suppose you'll be telling me next that it was all your fault,” he said sarcastically.

She nodded.