"
His age was so constantly in his mind now that he fancied it must be
in her mind too. She had never given it a thought. The reference he
had just made to it did not divert her for a moment from the subject on
which she was speaking to him.
"You don't know how I value your good opinion of me," she said,
struggling resolutely to sustain her sinking courage. "How can I deserve
your kindness, how can I feel that I am worthy of your regard, until I
have opened my heart to you? Oh, don't encourage me in my own miserable
weakness! Help me to tell the truth--_force_ me to tell it, for my own
sake if not for yours!"
He was deeply moved by the fervent sincerity of that appeal.
"You _shall_ tell it," he said. "You are right--and I was wrong." He
waited a little, and considered. "Would it be easier to you," he asked,
with delicate consideration for her, "to write it than to tell it?"
She caught gratefully at the suggestion. "Far easier," she replied. "I
can be sure of myself--I can be sure of hiding nothing from you, if I
write it. Don't write to me on your side!" she added, suddenly, seeing
with a woman's instinctive quickness of penetration the danger of
totally renouncing her personal influence over him.
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