"I persuaded him because I was dull—but I never knew!—I never dreamed she was so bad! Oh, Honey!" and Joyce broke into a passion of tears. "I shall never be happy again. I shall always feel that I was responsible!"
"He should never have stayed with you!—his duty was clear," said Honor sternly. "The responsibility rests entirely with him. But didn't you know that being alone and without your husband, you were inviting criticism by allowing him to stay—at that late hour? People in these mafasil stations are so censorious."
"I did not think it mattered," said Joyce without a shadow of resentment at such plain speaking. She stood with hands clasped, looking like a child in trouble, and Honor's heart began to melt. "He's only the doctor, you see, and he was so good to us in camp. Do you think I was wrong, Honey?" flinging her arms about Honor's neck and hiding her face in her bosom. Who could censure so much sweetness? So she was held in a close embrace and tenderly kissed.
"I have no right to speak—forgive me," said Honor.
"But you are privileged, because I love you," said Joyce. "Say what you please. I am so unhappy!—so miserable!"
"We must be miserable only for harm consciously done. You could never do that."
"I could not bear that you should condemn me," Joyce went on, clinging to her for consolation. "It seemed such a simple thing—it was."
"Yes, of course," Honor agreed against her judgment. "Only it would be hateful that you should be talked about by the people here—as Mrs. Fox is, for example."
"I should loathe it!—for I am not like her. You don't think that for a moment?"
"Never!—that is why I'll not have you misjudged," said Honor kissing her wet cheek.