"You are very good," she faltered; "but"—she hesitated.
"But what?" he urged gently, holding both her hands and looking down at her.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered, "I know everything."
"You asked Mrs. Deans!" she said in an incredulous voice.
He flushed at the tone. It told so clearly that she fully understood what Mrs. Deans would say; and somehow it seemed to link him with Mrs. Deans, as if he and that worthy woman stood on one side of a river and Myron Holder alone on the other. He could not bear that.
"Yes, but I always judge for myself," he said quickly.
"Oh!" she said. "You are——" She stopped, but gave the note of those swift glances of ineffable gratitude that had so often stirred Homer's heart.
And, looking at her thus, Hardman forgave her everything, "for Love pardons the unpardonable past;" and this man from that moment loved her, although he did not yet know it.
"Your child was very dear to you," he said, glancing at the table, where the two plates stood, although there was but one to sit at the board.