"I was happy. I do not deny it. Whatever comes, I will not blench from the truth. I have answered you."
"And yet," replied he, secretly exulting in her admission, and not perceiving the inner strength of which she must have been conscious before she would have dared to make it—"and yet, Ruth, we are not to recur to the past! Why not? If it was happy at the time, is the recollection of it so miserable to you?"
He tried once more to take her hand, but she quietly stepped back.
"I came to hear what you had to say about my child," said she, beginning to feel very weary.
"Our child, Ruth."
She drew herself up, and her face went very pale.
"What have you to say about him?" asked she, coldly.
"Much," exclaimed he—"much that may affect his whole life. But it all depends upon whether you will hear me or not."
"I listen."
"Good Heavens! Ruth, you will drive me mad. Oh! what a changed person you are from the sweet, loving creature you were! I wish you were not so beautiful." She did not reply, but he caught a deep, involuntary sigh.