"Why, yes, I think you had better," she answered with a bitter little smile, "on having done my duty. Don't look so shocked, Teddy," she went on, "I had to say it, and you are the only person besides father and mother who knows what I have done. And now I'm going to ask a great favour."
"Yes, Doris?"
"It is that you will prove your friendship to me—prove it once more, Teddy—by never, after to-night, referring to the matter. I'm going to try hard not to let it poison my life—for a year, at any rate."
"Very well…. But I must ask at least one question."
"Ask."
"Could I have done anything to prevent this?"
"No one," she answered sadly, "could have done anything, excepting one man, and he died last week—Christopher Craig."
"Christopher Craig—dead? No wonder your father has been upset. Of course
I know of their long friendship in South Africa, and once I was Mr.
Craig's guest in Scotland along with Alan. The old man had a tremendous
admiration for you, Doris."
"I loved him, though I did not see him for several years before the end.
Well, I have answered your question. Have I your promise?"
He put his hand tenderly over hers. "I will give you two promises, Doris," he said deliberately; "the one you ask for and another. I promise you that Bullard shall never call you his wife!"