"But twice is more than enough."
"It shows that the trouble is still there, that one can't count on his promises," Thayer assented gravely.
"He does promise?"
"Yes, like a child. That is the pitiful part of it, pitiful and yet exasperating. He admits his own weakness, and is sorry and ashamed, as soon as he comes to himself. For a time, he is a model of caution and sobriety. Then he blunders into the way of temptation and makes a mess of it all." Unconsciously Thayer's voice betrayed his dislike of a weakness of which he had no comprehension. An instant later, he seemed to realize his own self-betrayal and he pulled himself up sharply. "I wish you knew Lorimer better, Miss Gannion. Then you would understand why I am telling you all this. He is so loyal, so generous to his friends, so full of talent. At Göttingen, they called him the most brilliant American who had ever studied there, and he was by all odds the most popular fellow of his time. His very popularity increased the danger." As if he had been pleading his own cause, Thayer's voice was full of earnest eagerness. Even in the midst of her anxiety and pain, Miss Gannion felt the power of its flexible modulation; and her half-formulated condemnation of Lorimer stayed itself.
Thayer broke the silence which followed, and his accent was resonant again.
"There's no especial use in thrashing over the past. The present is none too good; but my question is simply in relation to the future."
"And the question is?" Miss Gannion asked.
"Whether we ought to tell Miss Dane," he answered briefly.
"It will kill her." The feminine in Margaret Gannion was uppermost once more.
"Such wounds are more likely to mangle than to kill." Thayer spoke grimly.