"Yes," she answered at last, very quietly. "It was Peter." With a sudden shudder she bent forward and covered her face with her hands. "And I can't forget," she said hoarsely.
A long, heavy silence fell between them.
"Then why—" began Lord St. John.
Nan lifted her head.
"Why did I promise Roger?" she broke in. "Because it seemed the only
way. I—I was afraid! And then there was Penelope—and Ralph. . . .
Oh, it was a ghastly mistake. I know now. But—but there's
Roger . . . he cares . . ."
"Yes. There's Roger," he said gravely. "And you've given him your word. You can't draw back now." There was a note of sternness in the old man's voice—the sternness of a man who has a high creed of honour and who has always lived up to it, no matter what it cost.
"Remember, Nan, no Davenant was ever a coward in the face of difficulties. They always pulled through somehow."
"Or ran away—like Angèle de Varincourt."
"She only ran from one difficulty into the arms of a hundred others.
No wrong can be righted by another wrong."
"Can any wrong ever be really righted?" she demanded bitterly.