“You must not suppose,” he said, as he had once before, “that I do not make allowances.”
“Allowances?” she cried, starting up. “Allowances—always allowances! never pity! never mercy! never forgetfulness!”
“You did not ask for mercy,” said George.
“No, I didn’t. I know what you mean—I lied.”
“Yes, you lied, if you choose that word. You garbled documents, and, when the truth was told, you called it slander.”
Neaera had sunk back in her seat again. “Yes,” she moaned. “I couldn’t let it all go—I couldn’t!”
“You yourself have made pity impossible.”
“Oh no, not impossible! I loved him so, and he—he was so trustful.”
“The more reason for not deceiving him,” said George, grimly.