uld be proud of--the real thing, you know, the real thing--I have
known her these eight years--watched her grow up--rare courage--pure
soul. Nothing doing? My God, man, have you eyes?" It was not often that
Tom Waring-Gaunt allowed himself the luxury of passion, but this seemed
to him to be an occasion in which he might indulge himself. Romayne
stood listening to him with his face turned away, looking out of the
window. "Don't you hear me, Jack?" said Waring-Gaunt. "Do you mean
there's nothing in it, or have you burned out your heart with those fool
women of London and Paris?"

Swiftly his brother-in-law turned to him. "No, Tom, but I almost wish to
God I had. No, I won't say that; rather do I thank God that I know now
what it is to love a woman. I am not going to lie to you any longer,
old chap. To love a sweet, pure woman, sweet and pure as the flowers out
there, to love her with every bit of my heart, with every fibre of my
soul, that is the finest thing that can come to a man. I have treated
women lightly in my time, Tom. I have made them love me, taken what they
have had to give, and left them without a thought. But if any of them
have suffered through me, and if they could know what I am getting now,
they would pity me and say I had got enough to pay me out. To think that
I should ever hear myself saying that to another man, I who have made
love to women and laughed at them and laughed at the poor weak devils
who fell in love with women. Do you get me? I am telling you this and
yet I feel no shame, no humiliation! Humiliation, great heaven! I am
proud to say that I love this girl. From the minute I saw her up there
in the woods I have loved her. I have cursed myself for loving her. I
have called myself fool, idiot, but I cannot help it. I love her. It
is hell to me or heaven, which you like. It's both." He was actually
trembling, his voice hoarse and shaking.

Amazement, then pity, finally delight, succeeded each other in rapid
succession across the face of his brother-in-law as he listened. "My
dear chap, my dear chap," he said when Romayne had finished. "Awfully
glad, you know--delighted. But why the howl? The girl is there--go in
and get her, by Jove. Why not, eh, what?"

"It's no use, I tell you," said Romayne. "That damned German has got
her. I have seen them together too often. I have seen in her eyes the
look that women get when they are ready to give themselves body and soul
to a man. She loves that man.