"But I acknowledge my faults."
"Acknowledge!" she retorted in disdain. "What of that? Acknowledgment is not reparation, though many try to make it so."
She walked towards the door, but he reached it first and laid his hand upon the latch.
"You are going away," he said. "Who knows when we shall ever meet again. At least remember that I condemn myself as sharply as you can."
"That is the degradation of it," was her retort, her eyes blazing at him. "If you could plead ignorance, I could pity you."
"Edith is a saint," he went on, not heeding, "but her good is my evil. I do not plead it as an excuse; I have and I want no excuse: but it is true that temptation could come to me in no shape so insidious as through her sincerity."
"Then you will be honest!" pleaded Helen.
"I do not say that. I think I shall go on as I am; but I have changed my idea of my epitaph. It shall be only the word 'Pardon.'"
"Your old one was better," she retorted stingingly, "and better than either would be a blank! Let me pass!"