"He told me only last
night."
"At the dance?"
She nodded.
"Rather sudden, wasn't it?"
"Very sudden." Ida withdrew herself from her husband's arms and
sat up. "And I want to talk to you about Sonny. I've never had a
real secret from you before. I didn't intend ever to tell you.
But it came to me to-day, out in the Kanaka Surf, that if we passed
out, it would be something left behind us unsaid."
She paused, and Lee, half-anticipating what was coming, did nothing
to help her, save to girdle and press her hand in his.
"Sonny rather lost his . . . his head over me," she faltered. "Of
course, you must have noticed it. And . . . and last night, he
wanted me to run away with him. Which isn't my confession at all .
. . "
Still Lee Barton waited.
"My confession," she resumed, "is that I wasn't the least bit angry
with him--only sorrowful and regretful. My confession is that I
rather slightly, only rather more than slightly, lost my own head.
That was why I was kind and gentle to him last night. I am no
fool.
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