She rose and went to his side.
"Is it all my fault, Marsh ?" she said.
"What is your fault ?" he asked, pausing.
"That we are so unhappy; am I the only one at fault there ?" He looked down into her face relentingly.
"I don't know--I swear I don't know!" he said hoarsely.
"What is it, Marsh--why are you so unhappy?
Just because you love me?
What an unkind thing to say!" He turned to the table to pour himself a drink, but she caught his hand.
"For my sake, Marsh!" she entreated.
Again he looked down into her eyes.
"For my sake," she repeated softly.
"By God, I'll never touch another drop!" he said.
"Oh, you make me so happy!" she exclaimed.
He crushed her in his arms until his muscles were tense.

She did not struggle for release, but abandoned herself without a word to the emotion of the moment.

Her head thrown back, her cheeks pale, her full lips smiling, she gazed up into his face with eyes burning with sudden fire.
"How I love you!" he whispered.
She slipped her arms about his neck with a little cry of ecstasy.
"Oh, Marsh, I have been foolish, too, but this is the place for me--my place--against your very heart!" she said softly.
For a long minute Langham held her so, and then tortured by sudden memory he came back sharply to the actualities.

His arms dropped from about her.
"What is it, dear ?" she asked.
She was not yet ready to pass from the passion of that moment.
"It's too late--" he muttered brokenly.
"No, dear, it's not too late, we have only been a little foolish.

Of course we can go back; of course we can begin all over, and we know now what to avoid; that was it, we didn't know before, we were ignorant of ourselves--of each other.