She nodded, and then turned away her head.
“What an arrant little hypocrite it is!” said he, drawing his arm around her waist; “and with all the will in the world to deceive, what a poor actress! My child, I know your heart is breaking this very moment at my cruelty, my utter barbarity, and if you had only the courage, you 'd tell me I was a beast!”
“Oh! Tom,—oh! dear Tom,” said she, hiding her face on his shoulder.
“Dear Tom, of course, when there 's no help for it. And this is a specimen of the candor and frankness you promised me!”
“But, Tom,” said she, faltering at every word, “it is not—as you think; it is not as you believe.”
“What is not as I believe?” said he, quickly.
“I mean,” added she, trembling with shame and confusion, “there is no more—that it 's over—all over!” And unable to endure longer, she burst into tears, and buried her face between her hands.
“My own dear, dear sister,” said he, pressing her to his side, “why have you not told me of this before?”
“I could not, I could not,” sobbed she.
“One word more, Lu, and only one. Who was in fault? I mean, darling, was this your doing or his?”