"Did he tell you of my answer?"
"No;—he has told me of no answer. I have not seen him since."
"You do not think that it can have been very kind, do you? I also have something of the feeling of John Crumb, though I shall not attempt to show it after the same fashion."
"Did you not say the girl had promised to love that man?"
"I did not say so;—but she had promised. Yes, Hetta; there is a difference. The girl then was fickle and went back from her word. You never have done that. I am not justified in thinking even a hard thought of you. I have never harboured a hard thought of you. It is not you that I reproach. But he,—he has been if possible more false than Felix."
"Oh, Roger, how has he been false?"
Still he was not wishful to tell her the story of Mrs. Hurtle. The treachery of which he was speaking was that which he had thought had been committed by his friend towards himself. "He should have left the place and never have come near you," said Roger, "when he found how it was likely to be with him. He owed it to me not to take the cup of water from my lips."
How was she to tell him that the cup of water never could have touched his lips? And yet if this were the only falsehood of which he had to tell, she was bound to let him know that it was so. That horrid story of Mrs. Hurtle;—she would listen to that if she could hear it. She would be all ears for that. But she could not admit that her lover had sinned in loving her. "But, Roger," she said—"it would have been the same."
"You may think so. You may feel it. You may know it. I at any rate will not contradict you when you say that it must have been so. But he didn't feel it. He didn't know it. He was to me as a younger brother,—and he has robbed me of everything. I understand, Hetta, what you mean. I should never have succeeded! My happiness would have been impossible if Paul had never come home from America. I have told myself so a hundred times, but I cannot therefore forgive him. And I won't forgive him, Hetta. Whether you are his wife, or another man's, or whether you are Hetta Carbury on to the end, my feeling to you will be the same. While we both live, you must be to me the dearest creature living. My hatred to him—"
"Oh, Roger, do not say hatred."