“I did, I did, you know I did, Walter! Of course I did. And I have been so happy! Oh, please, don’t say you don’t think so. What can I say, what can I do, to make you know? Do know, do understand.”
All her body was working with quick excited movements, all her heart was in her eyes. Wilbraham covered his own.
“God forgive me, you poor little girl!” he groaned brokenly.
“Ah! then you do know,” she said in a voice that was almost pleased. A little pride in her rose up, because she had been able to convince him, for generally she never attempted to argue, accepting dutifully whatever view of the situation he or Teresa took. This time it was she herself who had made the impression. She put her hand into his.
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said consolingly.
“But if you—if you love me?”
“Still, we’ve both got to do it, haven’t we?” she said, and looked at him doubtfully. Was she perhaps mistaken after all? Walter had believed her when she reassured him, and so—if he were to say the same to her, well, then certainly she must believe him, too. And how glad she would be! How very very glad! She looked at him again. He was sorry, not pleased.
“Walter?” She hesitated.
“Yes, Sylvia?”
“Will you tell me?”