Helen, turning away, had dropped into her chair, leaning her forehead on her hand. 'I shall never forgive him,' she said.
Franklin, on the other side of the fire, stood thinking, thinking so hard that he was not allowing himself to feel. He was thinking so hard of Helen that he was unconscious how the question he now asked might affect himself. 'You do love him, Helen? It's him you've always loved?'
'Always,' she said.
'And he's found it out—only to-day.'
'He didn't find it out; I told him. He came to reproach me for my engagement.'
Franklin turned it over. 'But what he has found out, then, is that he loves you.'
'So he imagines. It's not a valuable gift, as you see, Gerald's love.'
Again Franklin paused and she knew that, for her sake, he was weighing the value of Gerald's love. And he found in answer to what she said his former words: 'Why, no, I don't see that,' he said.
'I'm afraid it's all I do see,' Helen replied.
He looked down upon her and after a silence he asked: 'May I say something?'