"It is very hard," he said.
"It is harder than you know," she answered.
For she loved him, though he did not know it, and she felt as well as he did that she was losing him. But because she was Harmon's wife and meant to stand by her husband, she would not call it love in her heart, though she knew her own secret. She would hardly let herself think that it was much harder for her than for Wimpole, though she knew it. Temptation is not sin. She had killed her temptations that day, and in their death had almost killed herself.
The sacrifice was perfect and whole-hearted, brave as true faith, and final as death itself.
"Good night," said Wimpole, and his voice broke.
Helen still had strength to speak.
"Neither you nor I shall ever regret this," she answered, but she looked long at him, as though she were not to see him again.
He pressed her hand hard and dropped it. Once more she looked at him and then turned slowly and left him standing there.
The porter of the hotel was facing her on the steps. Neither she nor Wimpole had noticed that he had come back and was waiting for them to part. He held a telegram in his hand, and Helen started slightly as she saw it, for she knew that it must be Harmon's answer to her word of forgiveness.
"Already!" she exclaimed faintly, as she took it.