'She is as little to me as if I had never seen her. You cannot say that I have any obligation to her. I asked her to be my wife, and she refused me; that was the end. There indeed, if you like, I was misled. I admired and respected her, and made myself believe that it was love. Again and again I doubted myself, even then. Since I first knew that I loved Thyrza, I have never doubted one moment. You, for all your subtle analysis of my character, do not know me. You think I must have a woman of fine intellect for my companion. You are wrong. What I need, I have seen in one face, and one only.'
Mrs. Ormonde spoke in a changed voice.
'On one point I can set your mind at rest, and I will, for I cannot bear to see you suffering. It is true that Thyrza is with friends. I know the people with whom she is living.'
'You know them? You know where Thyrza is?'
'I found her where she lay ill; the chance of her having my address in her possession led the people of the house to send for me. I took her away, and put her in good care.'
'And you could keep this from me?'
'You see why I did. Can I trust you not to abuse my kindness?'
'You mean—?'
'That it will be wholly dishonourable if you make any attempt to discover her after this. Do so, and we are friends no longer.'
'How can you exact any such promise as that?'