"Insatiable casuist!" Carteret tenderly laughed at her.
And with that, by common though unspoken consent, they walked onward again.
Even while so doing, however, both were sensible that this resumption of their homeward journey marked a period in, rather than the conclusion of, their conversation. Some outside compelling force—so in any case it appeared to Carteret—encompassed them. It was useless to turn and double, indulge in gently playful digression. That force would inevitably make them face the innermost of their own thought, their own emotion, in the end. In obedience to which unwelcome conviction, Carteret presently brought himself to ask her:
"And about this other person—for we have wandered a bit from the point at issue, haven't we?—whose interests as I gather clash, for some reason, with those of your father, and whose pride and honour you are so jealously anxious to safeguard."
"His pride, yes," Damaris said quickly, her head high, a warmth in her tone. "His honour is perfectly secure, in my opinion."
"Whose honour is in danger then?—Dear witch, forgive me, but don't you see the implication?"
Damaris looked around at him with unfathomable eyes. Her lips parted, yet she made no answer.
After a pause Carteret spoke again, and, to his own hearing, his voice sounded hoarse as that of the tideless sea upon the beach yonder.
"Do you mean me to understand that the conflict between your father's interests and those of this other person—this other man's—arise from the fact that you love him?"
"Yes," Damaris calmly declared.