He smiled wryly and realized with a start that he was already out-of-doors, walking dazedly toward the cabin in the pines. The fresh, sweet wind blew through his hair and into his face, but the blur persisted, filled with voices and memories and promptings from God alone knew where.
The odor of pine was sharply reminiscent. . . . And then with a shock that stung him out of inhibition he was staring in at the cabin window. Joan sat by the table, her head upon her arm, her shoulders heaving.
"Poor child!" he said heavily. "Poor child!" And savagely cursed the summer pictures that flamed in his mind at the sight of her. The cabin, the wistaria ladder, the punt, the girl by the willow in the gold brocade--
Well, he must go hurriedly toward that door or not at all. His courage was failing.
The sound of the door startled her. Joan leaped to her feet and stood, shaking violently, by the table, one hand clutching at the edge of it in terror.
In that tongue-tied minute, if he had but known, with his fingers clenched in his hair and his face scarlet, he was like that turbulent boy who such a little while ago had crashed into his life with a sob.
Joan's agonized eyes, wet with tears, brought home to him the need of a steady head . . . and responsibility. Yes, he must keep his two feet solidly on the ground and face a gigantic responsibility.
"Don't cry, dear, please!" he said gently. "It's just one of the things that can't be helped. Don told me. He overheard."
Her low cry hurt--viciously. And she came flying wildly across the room to his arms, sobbing out her grief and remorse.
"Oh, Kenny, Kenny." she sobbed. "I--want--you--both."
His shaking arms sheltered her. A heart-broken child! He must remember that. And, as Don said, he could have been her father.
"Happiness with the least unhappiness to others, girleen," he reminded with his cheek against her hair. "Remember?"
"You must go to Brian. Any foolish notion of sacrifice now will only tangle the lives of all of us."
"But--I cannot forget! Kenny, if only you would hate me!"
"I didn't mean to love you, mavourneen. It was like the tale of Killarney. I left a cover off in my heart and a spring gushed out and flooded my life."
"You must not do that. You were in love with love. You must now know how different it--" But he could not say it, courageous as he felt.