I'm not a spiritualist. I don't believe such
things happen, but I know it happened to me," he finished illogically, with
a smile.
She sighed. "He was always so thoughtful of me, too. I do wish I had--could
have been--more--"
She broke off without finishing, but he understood.
"You must not blame yourself for that. He would be the first to tell you
so. He took you for what you could give him, and these last days were the
best he had known for many years."
"He was so good to me. Oh, you don't know how good."
"It was a great pleasure to him to be good to you, the greatest pleasure he
knew."
She looked up as he spoke, and saw shining deep in his eyes the spirit that
had taught him to read so well the impulse of another lover, and, seeing
it, she dropped her eyes quickly in order not to see what was there. With
him it had been only an instant's uncontrollable surge of ecstasy. He meant
to wait. Every instinct of the decent thing told him not to take advantage
of her weakness, her need of love to rest upon in her trouble, her
transparent care for him and confidence in him so childlike in its
entirety.
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