Brian remained silent, partly because he was still confused, and partly to give Dierdre the chance to speak, which he felt instinctively she would wish to seize.
She took a step forward, then stopped, with a sob, shamed tears stinging her eyes. "Will you forgive me?" she begged. "I would rather have died than hurt a blind man, or—or any one who loves a blind man. Lately I've been finding out how sacred blindness is. I ought to have guessed, Madame, that you were with him—that you were his wife. I ought to have known that only a great grief could have turned your wonderful hair white—you, so young——"
"Her hair white!" cried the blind officer. "No, I'll not believe it. Suzanne, tell this lady she's mistaken. I remember, in some lights, it was the palest gold, almost silver—your beautiful hair that I fell in love with——"
His voice broke. No one answered. There fell a dead silence, and Dierdre had time to realize what she had done. She had been cruel as the grave! She had accused a helpless blind man of selfishness; and not content with that, on top of all she had given away the secret that a brave woman's love had hidden.
"Suzanne—you don't speak!"
"Oh!" the trembling woman tried to laugh. "Of course, Mademoiselle is mistaken. That goes without saying."
"Yes—I—of course," Dierdre echoed. "It was the light—deceived me."
"And now," said the blind man slowly, "you are trying to deceive me—you are both trying! Suzanne, why did you keep it from me that your hair had turned white with grief? Didn't you know I'd love you more, for such a proof of love for me?"
"Indeed, I—oh, you mustn't think——" she began to stammer. "I loved your dear eyes as you loved my hair. But I love it twice as much now. I——"
He cut her short. "I don't think. I know. Chérie, you need have had no fear. I shall worship you after this."