Again he put his hand to his eyes. "I've been a beast about Robin. Ask him to forgive me, Juliet! Tell him I'm awfully sorry, that I'll come as soon as I can get away. And if there's anything he wants—anything under the sun—he's to have it. See? Make him understand!"
"He will understand," Juliet said quietly.
He looked at her again. "Don't let him fret, Juliet!" he said urgently. "You'll comfort him, won't you? I know I'm always rating him, but he's such a good chap. You—you love him, don't you?"
"Yes," she said.
"God bless you for that!" he said earnestly. "I can't tell you what he is to me—can't explain. But—but—"
"I—understand," she said.
"What?" He stared at her for a moment. "What—do you understand?"
"I know what he is to you," she said gently. "I have known—for a long time. Never mind how! Nobody told me. It just came to me one day."
"Ah!" Impulsively he broke in. "You see everything. I'm afraid of you, Juliet. But look here! You won't—you won't—make him suffer—for my sins?"
Her hand pressed his arm. "What am I?" she said. "Have I any right to judge anyone? Besides—oh, besides—do you think I could possibly go to him if I did not feel that nothing on earth matters now—except our love?"