Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap.

She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch
him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb thing!

"I do forgive--Johnny! But your world and my world--"

"Those stains! The wretches hurt you!"

"What? Where?"--bewildered.

"The blood on your waist!"

Kitty looked down. "That is not my blood, Johnny. It is yours."

"Mine?" Johnny. Something in the way she said it. "Mine?"--trying to
solve the riddle.

"Yes. It is where your cheek rested when--I thought you were dead."

The sense of misery, of oppression, of terror, all fell away
miraculously, leaving only the flower of glory. She would be his
plaything if he wanted her.

Silence.

"Kitty, I came out of a dark world--to find you. I loved you the moment
I entered your kitchen that night. But I did not know it. I loved you
the night you brought the wallet. Still I did not understand. It
was when I heard the lift door and knew you had gone forever that I
understood. Loved you with all my heart, with all that poor old Stefani
had fashioned out of muck and clay. If you held my head to your heart,
if that is my blood there--Do you, can you care a little?"