In the mean time Claire and Philip were discussing the man in the cabin. Philip had finally broken the silence by saying: "Claire, you needn't feel so about whatever has happened. Remember he is blind and must be treated less critically than other men."
She knew that that was just what had made Lawrence so deadly white when she had spoken, and it filled her with sickening pain. She answered unsteadily: "That isn't true. It isn't Lawrence, anyway, it's myself who should be condemned."
Philip was thoughtful. "It is like you to take the blame on yourself. You are so kind-hearted that way."
In her present state, his words seemed like a reproach. "Philip, don't," she said sadly. "I know better than that."
He persisted. "No, you do not. You are too sympathetic, and you let your heart get the better of you."
"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," she repeated. "You wouldn't, if you knew the truth."
"Of course, I do not know what happened," he said, "but I do know you—even better than you know yourself."
"Do you know what I've done?"
"No, and I do not care. It was right, I am sure. The queen can do no wrong." He was intensely serious.
"Isn't there any common sense left in you, Philip?" she railed. "Have you gone clear back into medieval nonsense in your feeling toward me? I tell you, you are indulging in foolishness."