"How do I
know?" She laughed harshly. "When a man leaves one's arms suddenly,
lips wet with last kisses and mouth areek with last lies!"
"And--?"
"Forgets the way back to those arms."
"So?" The blood of the Welse pounded up, and like a hot sun dried
the mists from her eyes and left them flashing. "Then that is why
you came. I could have guessed it had I given second thought to
Dawson's gossip."
"It is not too late." Lucile's lip curled. "And it is your way."
"And I am mindful. What is it? Do you intend telling me what he has
done, what he has been to you. Let me say that it is useless. He is
a man, as you and I are women."
"No," Lucile lied, swallowing her astonishment.
"I had not thought that any action of his would affect you. I knew
you were too great for that. But--have you considered me?"
Frona caught her breath for a moment. Then she straightened out her
arms to hold the man in challenge to the arms of Lucile.
"Your father over again," Lucile exclaimed. "Oh, you impossible
Welses!"
"But he is not worthy of you, Frona Welse," she continued; "of me,
yes. He is not a nice man, a great man, nor a good. His love cannot
match with yours. Bah! He does not possess love; passion, of one
sort and another, is the best he may lay claim to. That you do not
want. It is all, at the best, he can give you.
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