"Then you never loved that puppy?" he asked, amazed.
One hand crept up to his other shoulder.
"Oh, Dicky, no! And—and you—you don't love that horrid Mrs. Fanshawe, do you?"
He was still more amazed.
"Mrs. Fanshawe? Great heavens, no! You never thought that, surely?"
"I did—I did! Since you were always at her house, and so cold to me—how could I help it?"
"Cold to you? My dearest, surely not?"
"You were—you truly were—and I was so miserable—I—I thought I had been so unreasonable and so horrid that you had ceased to I-love me—and I did not know what to do. And—and then you told me that you were going to—to confess—and I lost my temper and said I would n-not stay with you—But I never, never meant it—and when you seemed to expect me to go—I—I did not know what to do again!"
He patted her shoulder comfortingly.
"Sweetheart, don't cry! I had no idea of all this—why, I was sure that you loved Lovelace—I never doubted it—why in the world did you not tell me the truth?"