The silence was painful. She looked steadily into his dark earnest eyes. There was something too big and fine in them to be met with anger or reproach. He was deadly pale and waited breathlessly for her to speak.
"I'm sorry," she breathed softly.
"You know that it costs me something to say this to you," he stammered.
"Yes, I know——"
"But it must be. It's a question of principle—a question that cuts to the bone of a fellow's life and character. A man must be true to what he believes to be right, mustn't he?"
His voice was tender, wistful, pleading. The sweet, young face upturned to his caught his mood:
"Yes, Ned."
"I couldn't be a real man and do less, could I?"
"No—but I'm sorry"—she paused and suddenly asked, "Your brother agrees with you?"
Ned frowned: "Why do you ask that question?"