Hermione's head drooped lower, and she clasped her hands, resting them on the table. She looked wonderfully fair, standing thus, he thought— fairer than in her more confident and smiling moods.
"Mr. Fitzalan, is it—"
"Is it—what?"
"Is it—has it been—"
He waited.
"Has it been—all—deceiving?"
"What makes you ask?"
"Mrs. Trevor said—" Sobs shook her frame, and she could not go on.
"One cannot judge another. Nay, more—we cannot judge our own selves fairly. You must take that question to your Master."
"Is He that—to me?" she asked, as if brokenhearted with the doubt.