Priscilla felt her throat contract. She longed to say something that would reach Huntter without arousing his suspicions.
"No; love—at least, woman's love, doesn't stand everything—always."
"What doesn't it stand? The essence, I mean."
"It doesn't stand unfair play! Women understand fair play and for it would die. They may not say much, but—they never forgive being—tricked."
"Oh! of course. How graphic you are, Miss Glynn. You sound as if we were discussing a game of—of tennis or bridge. Gentlemen do not trick ladies." He frowned a bit.
"Don't they, Mr. Huntter?"
"Certainly not! What I meant was this: You seem, for a trained woman, very human and—and—well, what shall I say?—observing and rather a—thoroughbred. If you loved, now, loved really, is there anything you would not forgive a man? That is, if his love for you was the biggest thing in his life?"
Priscilla stood quite still and looked at the pale, handsome face on the pillow.
"My love—yes; my love could and would forgive anything, if it related only to—to—the man I loved and—me!"
The frown deepened on Huntter's face; he turned uneasily.