"What? He proposed, did he?" Sheer amazement sounded in Eustace's voice.
Dinah was not looking at him any longer. She sat rather huddled in her chair, as if a cold wind had caught her.
"Yes," she said in the same small, uneven voice. "He proposed. He didn't make love to me. In fact he—promised that he never would. But he thought—yes, that was it—he thought that presently I should be lonely, and he wanted me to know that he was willing to protect me."
"What a fool!" Eustace said. "And so you refused him! I don't wonder. I should have pitched something at him if I'd been you."
"Oh no! That wasn't why I refused. I had another reason." Dinah's head was bent low; he saw the hot colour she sought to hide. "I didn't know he cared," she whispered. "But even if—if I had known, I couldn't have said Yes. I never can say Yes now."
"Good heavens above!" he said. "Why not?"
"It's a reason I can't tell anyone," faltered Dinah.
"Nonsense!" he said, with a quick touch of his old imperiousness. "You can tell me."
She shook her head. "No. Not you. Not anyone."
"That is absurd," he said, with brief decision. "What is the reason? Out with it—quick, like a good child! If you could marry me, you can marry him."