"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a chaperon, perhaps."
She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had believed so strongly in his assurance of friendship. After a pause, she gathered her thoughts.
"Philip, I may have done as you say," she spoke slowly, "but it was not because I was not conscious of your manhood. It was because I thought you stronger than you are. I believed you could be my friend and not ask more."
He stood quietly looking at her where she sat.
"And what of him?" he asked, steadily.
"I am worried about him because he is blind, nothing more." She lied, looking straight into his eyes, then rose and stepped behind the curtain.
"Claire," he almost sang. "I am deeply, humbly, a thousand times sorry. You cannot know how your talk of Lawrence made me wild. I am a fool, I will admit, but I cannot think of your loving him, blind, selfish, egoistic, intolerant of other people, I cannot."
"You needn't," she returned, coldly. Her whole soul was filled with rage. She was recalling that he had said her eyes were alight when she looked at him, and she told herself that it was not true.
"Won't you give me a chance to show myself as I am, Claire? I want to prove to you that I am not a selfish beast."
She thought of Lawrence's cynical view of Philip's sentiments, and she laughed.