She leaned over him, pressing his head against her breast, as she whispered:
"You couldn't get me that way. You must understand—I must make it as plain to you as I can—that I couldn't go to you except as an equal. I couldn't go to any man—"
He sprang to his feet. "But you came to me as an equal," he cried, in tones of exasperation. "That's all over and done with. It's too late to reconsider the step we've taken—too late for me—much too late!—and equally too late for you."
"I can't admit that, Rupert. I've still the right to draw back."
"The legal right—yes; whether or not you've the moral right would depend on your sense of honor."
"Of honor?"
"Certainly. There's an honor for you as well as for me. When I'm so true to you it wouldn't be the square thing to play me false."
She rose without haste. "Do you call that a fair way of putting it—to say that I play you false because I refuse to involve you in our family disasters? I don't think any one could blame me for that."
"What they could blame you for is this—for backing out of what is practically a marriage, and for deserting me in a way that will make it seem as if I had deserted you. Quite apart from the fact that life won't be worth anything to me without you, it will mean ruin as a man of honor if I go home alone. Every one will say—every one—that I funked the thing because your father—"
She hastened to speak. "That's a very urgent reason. I admit its force—"