"Perhaps," she said calmly, "this would be a good time to talk to you, Arthur, as sister to brother ... can't we talk as brother and sister?"
For a change came over his face that sickened her. The next moment he was ready for the struggle.
"I fear not, Honora," said he humbly. "I fear we can never do that again."
"Then you are to stand in my way too?" with bitterness.
"No, but I am not going to stand in my own way," he replied boldly. "Have I ever stood in your way, Honora?"
"You have always helped me. Do not fail me at the last, I beg of you."
"I shall never fail you, nor stand in your way. You are free now as your father wished you to be. You shall go to the convent on the date which you have named. Neither Ireland, nor anything but your heart shall hinder you. You have seen my heart for a week as you never saw it before. Do not let what you saw disturb or detain you. I told your father of it the last day of his life, and he was glad. He said it was like ... he was satisfied. Both he and I were of one mind that you should be free. And you are."
Ideas and words fled from her. The situation of her own making she knew not how to manage. What could be more sensible than his speech?
"Very well, thank you," she said helplessly.
He had perfect control of himself, but his attitude expressed his uneasiness, his face only just concealed his pain. All his life in moments like this, Arthur Dillon would suffer from his earliest sorrow.