“How long has this been?” his voice came to her.
There was no escape. She was at his knees, and must look up, or confess guilt.
“This?”
“Come, my dearest girl!” Wilfrid soothed her. “I can help you, and will, if you'll take advice. I've always known your heart was generous and tender, under that ice you wear so well. How long has this been going on?”
“Wilfrid!”
“You want plain speech?”
She wanted that still less.
“We'll call it 'this,'” he said. “I have heard of it, guessed it, and now see it. How far have you pledged yourself in 'this?'”
“How far?”
Wilfrid held silent. Finding that her echo was not accepted as an answer, she moaned his name lovingly. It touched his heart, where a great susceptibility to passion lay. As if the ghost of Emilia were about him, he kissed his sister's hand, and could not go on with his cruel interrogations.