"What's the use of wasting words!" he softly inquired.
"But they won't be wasted," cried the girl.
"Everything that keeps me from remembering will be wasted!"
"Remembering what?"
"That you waited in for me! Everything but that will be wasted," he reminded her. "At first I was afraid, terribly afraid, that you wouldn't be here when I came. But you knew that I was coming, and you stayed! And that's all I want to know."
"Do you know why I stayed?" she demanded, whiter than ever, stunned by the colossal egotism that could assume so much.
"Yes—for this," was his reply as he took possession of the two barricading arms in their loose-sleeved blouse.
She tried to gasp out a desperate "Wait!" but he smothered the cry on her lips. It was not a scream that she gave voice to, when she could catch her breath, but more a moan of hate tangled up with horror.
