He looked steadily into her eyes. "You are wrong there," he said quietly. Then bluntly: "By God, Anne, if it were not for the one terrible thing that lies between us, I could—I could—"
"Go on," she said, her heart standing still. "You can at least say it to me. I don't ask for anything more."
"But why say it?" he cried out bitterly. "Will it help matters in the least for me to confess that I am weak and—"
She laughed aloud, unable to resist the nervous excitement that thrilled her. "Weak? You weak? Look back and see if you can find a single thing to prove that you are weak. You needn't be afraid. You are strong enough to keep me in my place. You cannot put yourself in jeopardy by completing what you started out to say. 'If it were not for the one terrible thing that lies between us, I could—I could—' Well, what could you do? Overlook my treachery? Forget that I did an even more terrible thing than you did? Forgive me and take me back and trust me all over again? Is that what you would have said to me?"
"That is what I might have said," he admitted, almost savagely, "if I had not come to my senses in time."
Her eyes softened. The love-light glowed in their depths. "I am not as I was two years ago, Braden," she said. "I'd like you to know that, at least."
"I dare say that is quite true," he said harshly. "You got what you went after and now that you've got it you can very comfortably repent."
She winced. "I am not repenting."
"Would you be willing to give up all that you gained out of that transaction and go back to where my grandfather found you?" he demanded?
"Do you expect me to lie to you?" she asked with startling candour.