looked at the fire. It seemed as though he had expected something of the sort, for the amusement was in his eyes again.
"I—I wouldn't divorce Harry if I could. He needs my help. He may come back for it. And then I must give it. One can't help love. But one can help marriage, and I had no right to marry if I didn't intend to—to mean it for better or for worse. I must keep my oath. I can't break it while he lives."
In the little detached sentences her voice shook and hurried and failed. Still Dick did not speak. She had prayed that he would give her the chance to say what she wanted, and he was giving it, quite fully. But in some strange way this did not help her. His silent personality had its effect beyond her will. She was realising vividly how little she knew of him: how much battle and thought and decision and temptation had gone to his making apart from anything which she could guess at in him. Then she began again; dragging out those carefully-planned sentences which were to convince and comfort him. She spoke of the glory of self-renunciation, the help of prayer, the sacredness of a love which is strong enough to slough off the earth-ties. Still Dick watched the fire, saying nothing. But his eyes were dark and brooding. He was remembering that flame in Tempest's eyes when he spoke of his Norse legends; he was noting the shake in the earnest, girlish voice using the simple sweet words which reflected her heart. And he was looking for the first time on an innocence which barred the door against wrong more effectually than all knowledge can do.
At last she stopped. She had said some of the things which she had meant to say; said them badly, perhaps, but he would understand. He must have understood, for he sat so still with his lips shut, staring into the fire. Why did he sit so still? Had she hurt him too deeply? Had she shown too high a path for him to tread at once? Or had she perhaps said more than was necessary? More than was womanly? Her face flamed suddenly, and her pulses drummed in her ears, and her eyes went blind. Then he spoke. His voice was very gentle; almost pitying.
