and go on lying to themselves, but I can plead nothing of that kind in my defence. I am really just as small and selfish and false as other women, and you may depend upon it, Gert, I shall never know what that great and true love of yours is."
"Well, Jenny," said Gert, with his same melancholy smile—"God knows, I am neither great nor strong, and I've lived in lies and abominations for twelve years. But I was ten years older than you are now when I met a woman who taught me to believe in the feeling you speak of with such scorn, and my faith in it has never been shaken."
They were silent for a moment.
"And you remained with her?" said Jenny at last.
"We had the children. I did not understand then that I should never have any influence on my own children, when another woman than their mother possessed my whole heart and soul.
"She was married too—very unhappily. Her husband was a drunkard. She had a little girl whom she could have brought with her. But we both stayed.
"It was part of the punishment, you see, for my relations with her who only gratified my senses, but was nothing to my soul. Our love was too beautiful to live on a lie; we had to conceal it like a crime.
"Believe me, Jenny, there is no other happiness than a great love."
She went up to him and he rose; they stood an instant close to one another without speaking.
"I must go now," he said abruptly, in a strained voice. "I must be back in time, or she will suspect something."
Jenny nodded, and followed him to the door.
"You must not believe that your heart is beyond love," he said; "it is a proud heart—and a warm one. Will you still count me among your friends, little girl?"
"Yes, thank you," said Jenny, giving him her hand.
