When you saved my father's life and I wanted to tell you
how much I thanked you for it, you would not let me tell you. Is
not that true?"
"I did not want your gratitude, Ruth," he pleaded in excuse, his
lips quivering, "I wanted your love."
"And why, then, should I not say to you now that I do not want
your pity? Is it because you are--" her voice sank to a whisper,
every note told of her suffering--"you are--sorry for me, Jack,
that you tell me you love me?"
Jack sprang to his feet and stood looking down upon her. The
cruelty of her injustice smote his heart. Had a man's glove been
dashed in his face he could not have been more incensed. For a
brief moment there surged through him all he had suffered for her
sake; the sleepless nights, the days of doubts and
misunderstandings! And it had come to this! Again he was treated
with contempt--again his heart and all it held was trampled on. A
wild protest rose in his throat and trembled on his lips.
At that instant she raised her eyes and looked into his.
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