"Why? What do you mean?"
She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, his
hands had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregular
heartbeats from his lips.
At last she spoke deliberately. "You would lay down your life for
your friend?" she said. It was almost a whisper.
Pete's face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of
his heart he searched for loyal words.
"I love Hugh--if that's what you mean," he said.
"I love you?" she repeated softly, perversely. "Did you say 'Hugh'
or 'you,' Pete?"
His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. "I said 'Hugh!'"
"Ah--you love only him--nobody else in all the world?"
Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggled
as though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to remember
Hugh. He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he
made a short step toward the waiting girl. She _was_ waiting,
breathing fast. Pete's arms quivered at his sides.
A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had
come up behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray;
his eyes were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to
become a straight, hard line.
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