Minutes went by in silence. When he spoke it was over his shoulder, and, as it were, parenthetically:
"But, Diane, I love you."
He stood as he was, listening, but as if without much expectation, for a response. When none came, and he turned round inquiringly, he beheld in her that radiant change which was visible to those who saw the martyred Stephen's face as he gazed straight into heaven.
For a long minute he stood spellbound and amazed.
"Was it that?" he asked, in a whisper.
She gave him no reply.
"It was that," he declared, in the tone of a man making a discovery. "It was that."
"Why didn't you tell me so before?" she found strength to say.
"Tell you, Diane? What was the use of telling you—when you knew? My life has been open, for you to look into as you would."