Still silent she drew away from him, and lifted a face so drawn with suffering that Danvers was startled at the change.
"You do not love me?" he questioned, more to himself than to the shrinking woman. "You do not understand?"
He stood before her struggling with his disappointment—that she should fail to understand—she who had always felt his thought so subtly; it was this, almost as much as her lack of response to his love, that hurt him.
They stood before each other, separated by a thing which the woman would not put into words, and the man dared not question.
"Mr. Danvers—Philip," said the girl, gently, "I am sorry——" She hesitated at the trite words, her voice faltering as she looked up into his sad face; it had grown thin and tired these last days. She longed to go to him, to tell him that he should find rest at last. "No," she went on, finally, "I am not sorry that you found the clipping," she altered her words; "why should I not be honest with myself—and you?"
She spoke so simply, so easily, that Danvers almost believed that she did not care.
"You saved my life once, dear friend," she said, "and that makes me dare to ask you to be generous now. Do not judge me! Wait a little. Forget this evening, and let us go back to the old days. Will you?"
She smiled into his face, so sad a little smile in its evident effort at bravery, that he responded to her mood, eager to help her keep the mastery over her heart, that she might fight her battle in her own proud way. Almost, he was reconciled to her woman's judgment; and he sat down and talked of Fort Benton days.
For that hour Winifred was grateful to Danvers all her life; and when he rose to say good-night she was quite herself again.
"You will understand if I tell you that I must go now?" inquired Danvers. "Judge Latimer was to come in on Number Four, and I must see him to-night."