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The Splendid Outcast
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"He was – my uncle – my father's brother. Nora told me everything. You've blamed me in your thoughts, Jim – "
"No, Moira – "
"Yes, I know," she insisted, "but I couldn't forget the long years of his kindness – until I knew what – what had happened – the horror of it. I ran away – here. Even then I did not tell them everything. And when they went to take him, it was too late. He's gone."
"You poor child. You've suffered – "
"I wanted to go to you, Jim – that night when they came to the studio. I wanted to – and again at Nice. But I was afraid, Jim."
"Afraid – "
"Of myself – if I had gone to you then … our love had been so sweet a thing, Jim – so pure and beautiful. I couldn't let it be anything else. I had never known what love was before. I am afraid," she whispered.
"But not now, dear?"
"No. Not of myself or of you. Only afraid that it's all a dream – that I'll wake up imprisoned by vows that may not be broken – "
"You're released from them now, Moira," he said soberly.
"Yes, Jim."
"And you'll marry me, dear?"
"Yes, Jim. But it would be a sin for us to be too happy too soon."
"I can be patient – "
"You won't be needing to be too patient, Jim," she whispered, her warm lips on his.
He held her in the hollow of his arm, where she was meant to be, both of them muttering the phrases that had been so long delayed, while their eyes looked down toward the sun-lit river, when suddenly Jim felt the girl's fingers tighten in his and he followed the direction of her gaze. Across the Petit Pont, just below them, a figure passed, a female figure in a heavy coat with a small hat that they both recognized, set rakishly upon a dark head.
"Piquette!" said Moira.
Jim was silent and they watched for another moment. Piquette paused for a moment on the bridge and then, raising her head quickly, squared her shoulders and went quickly along the Quai toward the Boulevard Saint Michel, where she was engulfed in the crowded thoroughfare.
END
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