He looked at her hopelessly.

"No, I don't think that. You have a right to ask. But it doesn't alter
things, does it? I can't tell you."

"You asked me to marry you."

"It was at Blakely. We were so far out of the world--such a different
world. I think that I had forgotten all that I wished to forget.
Everything seemed possible there."

"You mean that you would have married me and told me nothing of
circumstances in your life, so momentous that they have practically
exercised in this matter of your return to politics a compelling
influence over you?"

"I am sure," he said, "that I should not have told you!"

His unhappiness moved her. She still lingered. She drew a little breath,
and she went a good deal further than she had meant to go.

"It has been suggested to me," she said, "that your reappearance was due
to a woman's influence. Is this true?"

"A woman had something to do with it," he admitted.

"Who is she?"

"Her name," he answered, "is Blanche Phillimore. It was the person to
whom you yourself alluded."