But he would not help her. He could not believe he understood what she meant to say.
"You make it very hard for me," she murmured. "Yet I believe I understand why, if this thing is ever said at all, I must be the one to say it. Do you—Donald—do you—still—care?"
"O God!" he cried in his heart. "O God! Couldn't You have spared me this?"
But aloud, after an instant, he said, a little thickly, "I think you know without asking. I shall never stop caring."
She lifted her eyes. "Then—" and she waited.
He must speak. She had done her part. His head swam with the sudden astounding revelation that she was his for the taking, if—Ah, but the if! He knew too well what that must mean.
"Are you tempting me, too?" he asked, with sudden fierceness. "Do you mean—like all the rest—I may have you if—I give up my purpose and stay here?"
Mutely her eyes searched his. Dumb with the agony of it his searched hers in return. He turned away.
"Don!" Her voice was all low music. The words vibrated appealingly; she had seen what it meant to him. She put out one hand as if to touch him—and drew it back. "Listen to me, please. I know—I know—what a wonderful sacrifice you are making. I admire and honour you for it—I do. But—think once more. This great parish—surely there is work for you here, wonderful work. Won't you do it—with me?"
He looked at her with sudden decision on his course.