If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. Perhaps because I don’t know. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause.
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