"He has indeed," said Rigden bitterly; and next moment his heart was leaping, as a flame leaps before the last.
She who loved him was back at his side, she who had flouted him was no more. Her hot hands held both of his. Her quick breath beat upon his face. It was now nearly dark in the verandah, but there was just light enough for him to see the tears shining in her splendid eyes. Rigden was infinitely touched and troubled, but not by this alone. It was her voice that ran into his soul. She was imploring him to tell her all; there must be no secrets between them; let him but tell her the worst and she would stand by him, against all the world if need be, and no matter how bad the worst might be. She was no child. There was nothing he could not tell her, nothing she could not understand and forgive, except his silence. Silence and secrecy were the one unpardonable sin in her eyes. She would even help him to conceal that dreadful man, no matter what the underlying reason might be, or how much she might disagree with it, if only the reason were explained to her once and for all.
It was the one thing that Rigden would not explain.
He entreated her to trust him. His voice broke and the words failed him. But on the crucial point he was firm. And so was she.
"You said you were unreasonable and exacting," he groaned. "I didn't believe it. Now I see that it is true."
"But this is neither one nor the other," cried Moya. "Goodness! If I were never to exact more than your confidence! It's my right. If you refuse——"
"I do refuse it, in this instance, Moya."
"Then here's your ring!"
There was a wrench, a glitter, and something fell hot into his palm.
"I only hope you will think better of this," he said.