"It doesn't sound very brave," she said softly.
"No, it sounds uncommon paltry, I've no doubt," he agreed. "I funked it, and I tried to think it would have been kinder as well as pleasanter to keep you in the dark. Would it?"
She shook her head.
"Well, I don't know," he reflected doubtfully; "I fancy you'd sooner have thought that you had done it than that I had, however little you might have liked it. And you'd have been a bit sorry for me, instead of thinking me a beast."
"I'm sorry for you as it is," she answered quietly.
"What do you mean?" he exclaimed.
"I don't believe you love her," she said unsteadily.
"Oh, well," he murmured with a shrug; "then I can't persuade you."
She shook her head again—the little tossing shake which reminded Caragh sharply of how she used to tease him, through the curls that sometimes fall across her eyes. He was looking at the stars before she spoke again.
"I think there's one thing you might tell me which wouldn't hurt her if I knew," she said persuadingly. "Was it because you'd come to care less for me that ... that you ... that you asked her?"