"Yes, tell me," he said quietly.
"I cannot marry you, because I promised I never would."
"Promised you would never marry me!" he cried. "Promised who?"
She told the story which we already know, little thinking of the effect it had upon her hearer. She omitted no detail which had any importance in the story. The man's presence caused every incident to come back to her with painful vividness. The past lived again. Sometimes it seemed to her that not a stranger, but Leicester, stood beside her while she spoke.
"And you loved this man—this—this Leicester?" he asked presently.
"Yes, I think so—that is, I must have loved him, or I should never have promised to be his wife."
"And you gave him up because he was a bad man?"
"Because he insulted me. Because he did not seek me because he loved me, but because he would win his wager. How could I do otherwise?"
"But he loved you really—that is, afterwards?"
"He said so; but how did I know? He told—those men that it was only to win the wager."