"And that is all," he said, with a little tremble in his voice. "You will think it is horribly too much?"
Nellie Townshead glanced away into the shadows of the bush, and there was pain and a trace of shrinking in her face, but it had vanished when she turned again, and her voice had a little imperious ring.
"And what made you tell me now?"
Seaforth spread his hands out with a little deprecatory gesture. "I expected this. The story I have told you should have shown you what I am—and while I wanted to tell it earlier I was afraid."
The colour was a trifle plainer in the cheeks of the girl, and her voice slightly more imperious still.
"That leaves the question unanswered. I still want to know what gave you the courage now?"
Seaforth understood her, and knew her pride. "I think Harry gave me some of it. You see, I never had a great deal."
"Harry?" said Miss Townshead, with a trace of astonishment that was not quite free from disdain.
Seaforth moved his head. "Yes," he said. "What I have told you I told him, and he seemed to think that one could live—even that kind of thing—down. He is, you see, a somewhat exacting man, and that gave me the hope that you would be as merciful."
"Still, you have not answered me."