“Well?” she said.
He lifted his head suddenly.
“I shall not ask you to share exile, a prison or death with me. I cannot hold you. I know it—only—”
“Well?” she murmured again faintly.
“You said—just now—” he spoke with difficulty, a painful distinctness, “you—had kept clear of these things—you will remember it?”
“I do not understand,” she answered.
“I think you do. You are my wife. You will soon be free of me, I think. Until you are, I ask your loyalty. That is all.”
“Are you afraid of me?” she said.
“Of nothing,” he answered. “Least of all of meeting circumstance. Whatever occurs I can deal with it.”
There was a curious expression on Lady Stair’s face.