"Because the father in you is stronger than the lover?"
"I have never been your lover," he retorted harshly, hurling the words at her as if they had been an accusation.
She winced. "I am speaking English. Well—was it your loyalty to Théo that—that changed you?"
"I have been loyal, have I not? Juste ciel!" Rising, he walked about the great room, his hands clasped behind him. "My conduct was magnificent, was it not? Don't quibble with words, Brigit. In plain language, I was a scoundrel, a beast, and now I am trying to behave—not like a gentleman, but like a decent man. And why you won't let me, I don't know."
He was suffering, she saw with a sigh of relief.
"Then you still love me?" she asked coolly.
"Yes. Does a man change in a week? You are a child. Now tell me what you have come for—if you have any object other than your usual one of seeing how much I can endure, and then—go. I am strong, and you cannot make me change my mind, and I—I despise you for trying to make of me—the—thing I was at one time. But I am not made of stone, and you hurt me—almost too much."
His voice was very even and low-pitched, but she shrank back in her corner and hastened to answer.
"You wrong me. I have not come to tempt you. I have come—to tell you that nothing in the world nor out of it can induce me to marry Théo."
"You will not——"