He drew a hard breath. “You’re not afraid?”
“No,” she said.
He put an urgent hand on her shoulder. “Frances,” he said, “you must make him understand.”
“He will understand,” she said.
He bent towards her. His voice came huskily. “It isn’t only—for myself,” he said. “You know that?”
“I know,” she said.
“I want to win your forgiveness,” he said, and there was appeal in the pressure of his hand. “Have I got that?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You are sure?” Voice and touch alike pleaded with her.
She felt the tears welling to her eyes. “From my very heart,” she said. “Yes, I am sure.”