Yes, he might
smile and not be afraid. And indeed her delicate conscience was another
grace in his eyes. He loved her more than ever for the honesty that must
confess all its little sins. Sweet Leam! Leam having to confess! Leam!
she who was almost too modest for an ordinary lover's comfort, needing
to be tamed out of her savage bashfulness, not to be reproved for
transgressing the proper reticence of an English maid. It was a pretty
play, but it was only a play.
"Come and sit by me and make full confession, my darling," he said
lovingly.
"I will stand where I am. You sit," said Leam, without looking at him.
He seated himself on the sofa. "And now what has my little culprit to
say for herself?" he asked pleasantly, putting on a playful magisterial
air.
"It is over," said Leam, her hands pressed in each other with so tight a
clasp that the strained knuckles were white and started. "You must not
love me: I cannot be your wife."
"Why?" He showed his square white teeth beneath the golden sweep of his
moustache, his moist red lips parted, always smiling.
"I have done a great crime," said Leam in a low, monotonous voice.
"A crime! That is a large word for a small peccadillo--larger than any
sin of yours merits, my sweetheart."
"You do not know," said Leam with a despairing gesture. "How can you
know when you have not heard?"
"Well, what may be its name?" he asked, willing to humor her.
She paused for a moment: then with a visible effort, drawing in her
breath, she said, in a voice that was unnaturally calm and low, "I
killed madame.
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