"For what?"
"For that injustice, dear. When I went away from Strathleckie in January, I was angry and vexed with you. I thought that you were throwing yourself away in promising to marry Hugo Luttrell—" then, as Kitty made a sudden gesture—"oh, I know I had no right to interfere. I was wrong, quite wrong. I must confess to you now, Kitty, that I thought you a vain, frivolous, little creature; and it was not until I began to think over what I had said to you and what you had said to me, that I saw clearly, as I lay in my darkened room, how unjust I had been to you."
"You were not unjust," said Kitty, hurriedly; "and I was wrong. I did not tell you the truth; I let you suppose that I was engaged to Hugo when I was not. But——"
"You were not engaged to him?"
"No."
"Then I may say what I should have said weeks ago if I had not thought that you had promised to marry him?"
"It cannot make much difference what you say now," said Kitty, heavily. "It is too late."
"I suppose it is. I cannot ask any woman—especially any girl of your age—to share the burden of my infirmity."
"It is not that. Anyone would be proud to share such a burden—to be of the least help to you—but I mean—you have not heard——"
She could not go on. If he had seen her face, he might have guessed more quickly what she meant. But he could not see; and her voice, broken as it was, told him only that she was agitated by some strong emotion—he knew not of what kind. He rose and stood beside her, as if he did not like to sit while she was standing. Even at that moment she was struck by the absence of his old airs of superiority; his blindness seemed to have given him back the dependence and simplicity of much earlier days.