She didn't reply at once and when she did speak her words came slowly and with dignity.
"I don't know why it is that he should have kept silent about you. He has done me a hurt—irreparable. When I visited him in the hospital, it was you that I visited, you that I went to cheer, to take my place by your side. I thanked God when I saw you that you had grown to be—what you were, what I had wanted you to be. And I loved you for what you had suffered."
He started up from his chair.
"Moira——"
"Wait a moment," she insisted, still struggling to give her thoughts expression. "I want you to understand. I thought that it was you who had come back to me—as I wished you to come back—in honor and pride of your service of your country. And instead of you I find—another—with your wounds, your honors—if it was your brother—in spite of the false position he's placed me in—I honor him for those wounds as I would have honored you—and I honor him still more—because he has thought enough of his honor and of mine—to give up everything that he has won and gone out into the darkness—alone."
At this, Harry Horton's fury relaxed in a laugh. He poured himself out another drink.
"You can spare him these new honors."
She glanced at him keenly but he was too angry to notice.
"He went—away—because he had to," he muttered.
"What do you mean?"