"No, I don't think so," she answered uncertainly. "I—I'm not sure. Oh,
Peter, how difficult life is!"
He assented briefly. He knew very well how difficult.
"I can't imagine why I thought of Maryon just now," went on Nan, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brows. "I never do, as a rule, when I'm with you."
She smiled rather wistfully and with a restless movement he sprang to his feet and began pacing the room. A little cry of dismay broke from her and she came quickly to his side, lifting a questioning face to his.
"Why, Peter—Peter—What have I said? You're not angry, are you?"
"Angry!" His voice roughened a bit. "If I could only tell you the truth!"
"Tell it me," she said simply.
For a moment he was silent. Then:
"Don't ask me, Nan. There are some things that can't be told."
As he spoke, his eyes, dark and passionate with some forcibly restrained emotion, met hers, and in an instant it seemed as though the thing he must not speak were spoken.