She waited while he took a turn up and down the room.
"In the first place," he resumed, coming to an abrupt pause before her, "I must have absolute frankness from you, from the Doctor, and Mr. Fairchild. Nothing must be kept back. The older heads are the wiser, Miss Westbrook. Your mother sees this thing as I do."
"Do you know," she interposed, her voice betraying a sudden awe and wonder, "that mamma advised me to be perfectly open and candid with you?" She gazed at him as if trying to fathom what other mysterious forces lay behind his blank, rough visage. "She came from you to me with such an admonition."
"I am not at all surprised. Mrs. Westbrook is a very sensible woman, profoundly interested in what affects her daughter."
She shook her head doubtfully, as if the matter remained an insoluble riddle.
"However," he continued, "she was right, and I believe her opinion is in harmony with your own."
"Yes; I shall keep nothing back." The color all at once ebbed from her cheeks, leaving them white and cold. Her sensitive lips trembled, yet her voice remained steady and even, and she looked at him without a sign of confusion, as she made the simple statement: "I love Clay, Mr. Converse. Does that explain anything?"
He regarded her with undisguised admiration.
"It explains a great deal," he replied, "but not all—not all."
"Well, I hardly know how to begin," she said, slowly and thoughtfully; "my thoughts seem anchored to that great fact; it is so sufficient to my own mind—" She paused.