Miranda did not lift her head, but her hands answered the clasp of his. She did not in truth know at that moment who was speaking to her. She was only sensible of the sympathy of his touch and the great comfort of his voice.
Charnock bent lower towards her.
"I love you," he said, "you--Miranda."
Then she raised her face and stared at him with uncomprehending eyes.
"I love you," he repeated.
She looked down towards her hands which he still held and suddenly she shivered.
"I love you," he said a third time.
And she understood. She wrenched her hands away, she stretched out her arms, she thrust him away from her, in her violence she struck him.
"No, it's not true," she cried, "it's not true!" and so fell to pleading volubly. "Say that it's not true, now, at once. Say there's no truth in your words. Say that pity prompted them and only pity," and her voice rose again in a great horror. Horror glittered too in her eyes. "Say that you spoke more than you meant to speak!"
"I can say that," he answered. "When I came into this room I had no thought of speaking--as I did. But I saw you--I watched your hands," and he caught his breath, "and they plucked the truth out from me. For what I said is true."