"I believe it, if you tell me so," he answered.

"I do tell you," she declared. "I can explain it all. I am longing to
have it all off my mind. But first of all, there is just one thing which
I want to ask you."

His face as he looked towards her gave her almost a shock. Very little
was left of his healthy colouring. Already there were lines under his
eyes, and he was certainly thinner. And there was something else which
almost appalled her. There was fear in his manner. He sat like a man
waiting for sentence, a man fore-doomed.

"I want to know," she said, "what has brought you--here. I want to know
what manner of persuasion has prevailed--when mine was so ineffectual.
Don't think that I am not glad that you decided as you did. I am
glad--very. You are in your rightful place, and I am only too thankful
to hear about you, and read--and watch. But--we are jealous creatures, we
women, you know, and I want to know whose and what arguments prevailed,
when mine were so very insufficient."

He answered her without hesitation, but his tone was dull and spiritless.

"I cannot tell you!"

There was a short silence. She gathered her skirts for a moment in her
hand as though about to rise, but apparently changed her mind. She waited
for some time, and then she spoke again.

"Perhaps you think that I ought not to ask?"