Silence succeeded her words, and, as she waited for him to rise and
spurn her, she wondered how she had ever brought herself to utter them.
But she would not have recalled them even then. He moved at last, but
not as she had anticipated. He gathered the tumbled hair back from her
face, and, bending over her, he spoke. Even in her agony of
apprehension she noted the curious huskiness of his voice.

"And yet you told me," he said. "Why?"

She could not answer him, nor could she raise her face. He was not
angry, she knew now; but yet she felt that she could not meet his eyes.

There was a short silence, then he spoke again, close to her ear:

"You need not have told me, Naomi."

The words amazed her. With a great start of bewilderment she lifted her
head and looked at him. He put his hands upon her shoulders. She thought
she saw a smile hovering about his lips, but it was of a species she had
never seen there before.

"Because," he explained gently, "I knew."

She stared at him in wonder, scarcely breathing, the tears all gone from
her eyes.

"You--knew!" she said slowly, at last.

"Yes, I knew," he said. He looked deep into her eyes for seconds, and