Oh, no one need tell me! There was. And men were affected by
that and the chaotic condition of the times. New York was wild during the
year of your absence. Prohibition was a joke.--Well, I gadded, danced,
dressed, drank, smoked, motored, just the same as the other women in our
crowd. Something drove me to. I never rested. Excitement seemed to be
happiness--Glenn, I am not making any plea to excuse all that. But I want
you to know--how under trying circumstances--I was absolutely true to you.
Understand me. I mean true as regards love. Through it all I loved you
just the same. And now I'm with you, it seems, oh, so much more! . . . Your
last letter hurt me. I don't know just how. But I came West to see you--to
tell you this--and to ask you. . . . Do you want this ring back?"
"Certainly not," he replied, forcibly, with a dark flush spreading over his
face.
"Then--you love me?" she whispered.
"Yes--I love you," he returned, deliberately. "And in spite of all you
say--very probably more than you love me. . . . But you, like all women,
make love and its expression the sole object of life. Carley, I have been
concerned with keeping my body from the grave and my soul from hell."
"But--dear--you're well now?" she returned, with trembling lips.
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