"I know," she muttered, almost inaudibly. "It's all—horrible. It's infinitely worse than you suspect. And that's why I'm going to tell you the truth, big as the cost may be to me."
"Wait a minute," he interrupted. "Let's get this straight. You're telling me, aren't you, that any revelation you make now will react on you. Is that it?"
"Yes."
"You will be the chief sufferer by it?"
"Yes."
"Will it help you any to have me understand? Will it straighten out the trouble you're in?"
She considered her answer.
"The only help it will give me will be to know that you do understand," she said at last; "to know that—that—you're not suspecting things about me."
"And it will make things hard for you, otherwise, to have me know?" he persisted.
"Yes." This time her answer was prompt. "It will end everything I am trying to do, and destroy what I have already done."