His elbow was on the arm of his chair, and his hand shaded it.
"I know I forfeited all that," she said. "And I want you to feel that I—understand, and shall never expect to have it again. That is what I mean when I say, don't be too kind to me. You have been that, and much more than that, already. But I won't trade on your generosity. I am not a child any longer to need support and protection. I am old enough to stand alone."
"And what of my promise to Bertrand?"
He asked the question quite quietly, as though it were of no special moment to him, but she flinched before it, and turned her face aside.
"Oh, I don't think he would want you to be kind to me for his sake—if he knew how much it hurt?"
Mordaunt was silent for a moment, then: "And you have no use for my love?" he said.
She made a movement almost convulsive. "Trevor, don't—torture me!"
"My child," he said, "I only ask because I need to know."
She laid a trembling hand on his. "If I thought—you loved me—" She stopped, battling desperately for self-control, and after a few seconds began again. "If I thought—you wanted me—"
"I do want you, Chris," he said.