"Marion, Marion! dear!" he whispered lovingly, again and again. But she pushed him away. Then he rose to his feet and sat beside her, looking down into her face. "Yes," he said gravely, "you must know my secret now."
"Yes, I know your secret now, your miserable secret." She turned her face from him against the cushion.
"No, you do not know it," he said. "You do not even guess it. But I must tell you now. Take care. Be strong, be brave. It will hurt you."
While he was speaking Mrs. Darche rose from the sofa and her expression slowly changed as she realised that he had something grave to tell her. She rose slowly, steadying herself, but not taking her eyes from his face.
"Tell me, please. I am ready."
"John Darche is alive, and I have known it almost from the first."
It seemed to Brett that nothing he had ever done in his life had been half so hard. Marion stared at him for a moment, and then once more sank slowly into her seat and covered her face.
"Do you understand me now?" he asked after a long pause. "Do you see now why I have fought so hard against telling you this thing?"
"It is better so," she answered in a low and indistinct tone. "It was better that I should know it now." Then she was silent for a long time. "And is that all you have to tell me after all that I have told you?" she asked at last, as though in a dream.
"All? All, dear?" Suddenly his resolution broke down. "You know it is not all. I love you—that is all, indeed—and more than I have the right to say or you to hear."