"When I—when we are both sure, I shall act. There are ways out. It ought not to be difficult."
"No, quite easy, I think. I hope it will not be long."
His mask of reasonable acquiescence slipped a little at the wistfulness of her voice.
"Don't speak like that!" he said sharply. "No man is worth it."
Desire smiled. It was such a sure, secret little smile, that it maddened him.
"You can't—you can't care like that!" he said in a low, furious tone. "You said you never could!"
"I do," said Desire.
It was the avowal which she had sworn she would never make. Yet she made it without shame. Love had taught Desire much since the day of the episode of the photograph. And one of its teachings had to do with the comparative insignificance of pride. Why should he not know that she loved him? Of what use a gift that is never given? Besides, as this leaden week had passed, she knew that, more than anything else, she wanted truth between them. Now, when he asked it of her, she gave him truth.
"It is breaking our bargain," she went on with a wavering smile. "But I was so sure! I cannot even blame myself. It must be possible to be quite sure and quite wrong at the same time."
"Yes. There is no blame, anywhere. I—I didn't think of what I was saying."