"Yes. I told father I wanted to see you alone. Oh, you mustn't think I am not grateful for what you have done, and thankful beyond words to have Henry cleared and all the truth of things made known. I am. I am so thankful that I shall go softly all my days to remember it. That only makes it worse!"
"Makes what worse?"
"My--defaulting! You did it all because of--of a promise I made you. And I can't keep that promise. I can't. I thought while it was far off that I could, and I didn't let myself think much about it, because I was so anxious to have your help, and nothing, nothing, would be too much to pay for it,--and it wouldn't be, only--I simply can't!"
"Do you mean your promise to Philip?" asked Burton, a light that made him giddy coming over him.
"Yes. I--can't!"
"Why can't you?" he asked.
She caught her breath, and something flashed into her face that went to his head. It was gone in an instant, but in that instant all the wavering lights and shadows and uncertainties through which he had been groping were crystallized into white light.
"Then you don't love Philip?" he said tyrannously.
"No!"
"Didn't you ever love him?"