"I can't tell you that," he said.
"Why?" she questioned. "Don't you know?"
"I know perfectly," he said.
"Well?" she queried. Then, as he made no response, "Haven't I the right to know?"
"I can't say," he answered. "I haven't the right to tell you."
"Why?"
"It isn't only mine to tell," he said.
"It's hers, you mean?" she exclaimed. "Everything's hers, I suppose, now; everything that you once could call your own! Did you ever share your life with me in that fashion?"
"You forget," he said gravely. "She shares herself."
Ethel Vernon leaned towards him fiercely. "Do you mean——" she began impetuously, and stopped.