He hesitated, at a loss for an expression which would not be ungallant.
Instantly Valerie lunged.
"You'd 've what?"
"Behaved better," he said desperately, turning back the way they had come.
Head back, eyes closed, lips parted, Valerie stood like a statue.
"Behaved … better?" she whispered. "Behaved … better?" She shivered, and, when the blue eyes opened, there was the flash of tears springing. "When you talk like that," she said quietly, "you make me feel like death. I deserve it, I know. I deserve anything. But, if you knew how it hurt, I think you'd spare me." Staring into the distance, Anthony dug his nails into his palms. "I came here to-day to pray your forgiveness. Since I—found I was wrong, I've been more utterly wretched than I thought a woman could be. I didn't know there was such agony in this world. Aunt Harriet'll bear me out, and so will the Alisons. I told them the truth. And when, after all these weeks, I found where you were, I just thanked God…. You and I know what we were to each other. Try and put yourself in my place. Supposing you'd turned me down—because you were rotten…." Anthony winced. "Yes, rotten. There's no other word. And then you'd found out your mistake. How would you feel?"
"I'm sure you had cause," blurted Lyveden. "It was a mistake, of course. But you couldn't know that. And I—I've nothing to forgive, dear. I've never thought ill of you—never once. I can't pretend I wasn't shaken, but I always knew there was some mix-up."
"You were—shaken?" said Valerie.
Anthony nodded.
"You see," he explained, "I was terribly——"