Elaine went on again: "It was wrong not to let you stay with me. I had no right to do it; after all, a wife has no right to act as I did."
"Why think of it and worry about it now?" said John, attempting to strike an ordinary tone of voice.
"But I want to make everything straight between us, Bernard."
John led her to a chair, and she seated herself. He tried to turn the conversation, but this time he failed. Elaine felt a growing desire to wipe away all misunderstandings between them.
"I have still my confession to make, Bernard."
"What is it?" inquired John cheerily.
There was a silence for a moment—a silence that John felt to be momentous, that rendered him uncomfortable. Then Elaine's words came to him, uttered in a low tone.
"I never loved you till to-night, Bernard!"
John was conscious of a sudden and exultant thrill.
"Is that all your confession?" he asked.