“No. No—and I mean what I say. I don’t trust that kind of love, Rowland. I don’t trust being in love—it’s too—it feels like being drunk—or drugged. It makes me—I can’t think when I feel that way. I feel blind—I’m sure I must look blind. Rowland, look at me…”

Rowland looked. Her face was alight with contradictions, with pain, and with delight. Her eyes, bright with tears, dazzled him.

“You think I can look at you now…” he began in an unsteady voice. “Darling—I feel blind too—but I also feel—Gini, will you for God’s sake listen to me…”

“No. I know what you’re going to say. I can feel it here. Color flooded into her face. She pressed her hand against her heart. “You feel as if you can see better. As if you see more. I know. I feel that too. But, Rowland, you can’t trust that. It isn’t the first time I’ve felt it. And it doesn’t last, you know that as well as I do—we’re both old enough. It’s there—and then it dwindles away. So I have to listen, Rowland, to all those other voices. Trust. Honor—if I have any left. All the promises I made to Pascal. The things I said. The things I swore. I can’t go back on them. I do love him. I love him very much. I owe him—so many things, I can’t explain…”

“You don’t need to explain.” He jerked away from her, his face darkening. “I know why you’re saying this. He saved your life yesterday. That’s the reason for this. If that hadn’t happened, this might have been different.”

There was absolute silence. Gini stared at his face. It was taut with strain. Suddenly, with an oddly formal gesture, he released her hands and stepped back.

“I didn’t mean to do this. I didn’t mean—above all—to say that. I intended to leave here and keep my feelings to myself. That was what I planned.” He hesitated. “I can see how much Pascal Lamartine loves you. I don’t doubt you also love him. I feel I owe him a debt for what he did yesterday. But I find I can’t… Too much is at stake.” He gave a quick, angry shrug. “I want you to be very clear. I’m old-fashioned—Lindsay said that. And so—if you would have me, I’d marry you. And if you’re still going to dismiss me, you can do it knowing that.”

His manner had become more formal by the second; his final statements, made in a way that was almost harsh, were as devoid of emotion as he could make them—and the more effective for that. Gini’s eyes filled with tears.

“How can you say that, how? Rowland—stop. You scarcely know me—”

“I know you enough.”

“That can’t be true. You shouldn’t say such things. It isn’t fair to me. It isn’t fair to yourself.”

“Isn’t it?” He gave her a hard look. “Why not? I can see the alternative only too clearly. I love you, Gini. I know what it would be like, walking out now, not seeing you, not hearing your voice. That half-life. Dear God—I can see that so well…”