He rose and took a pace away from me. "We mustn't speak of that—again. It makes me think of what I owe to—the other."
"You owe her nothing. She has refused you. She doesn't care. Her whole life avows it. She has forgotten. Why shouldn't you?"
"I can't forget. And I can't look in Una's eyes, Roger. They're so clear, so trusting; she believes in me—utterly. It's a mockery, to have her near me so much and not be able to tell her—"
"Tell her!" I broke in as he paused, "Waste no time. Tell her that you love her. Don't be a fool. She loves you. She always has. I know it."
He turned quickly, caught me by the shoulders and peered closely into my face. "You think so, Roger? Do you?" he said.
"I'm sure of it; from the very first."
Slowly his hands relaxed and he turned away. "No—I—can't. I would have to tell her all. I owe her that. She would despise me."
"You might at least give her that opportunity," I suggested dryly.
"No," he said softly. "I wouldn't dare. It would make a terrible difference between us. I couldn't."
And then his hand grasping my arm as he pushed me toward the stairway, "Never speak of this again, Roger—do you hear? Never." I nodded and said no more, for he had set me to thinking deeply, and I walked all the way uptown to my hotel turning the matter over in my mind, arriving, before sleep came, at a decision.