"Oh, that isn't so much to my credit; reproaches are idle enough!"
He set his untasted tea on the table and leaned forward, looking at her, his clasped hands between his knees, his dark face perturbed. The light of the candelabrum on the tea-table flickered softly between them; the long room was full of keen shadows. Rachel's face, pale and spiritualized, was thrown into high relief; it had never seemed so nearly beautiful, with the subtle charm of the shadowed eyes and the soft, dark hair. She had passed through deep waters but Charter knew she loved him; there was comfort in that. The feeling of Charter's presence was with her, as it must be in great love, even in the immortal moment of renunciation.
Belhaven, looking at her with a comprehension of suffering, discerned the crisis. He saw that she had been deep in the struggle, he divined that Eva had, at last, confessed the truth, and his soul drew back shuddering from the thought of Rachel's judgment of him—and the justice of it. There was a long silence. At last he broke it.
"Rachel, I've been thinking it all over and I've tried to put myself out of it; for you it's intolerable."
She looked up in vague surprise; in the pause her mind had floated with the stream and she had almost forgotten Belhaven's point of view. "Not more intolerable than it has been—except I know now that Eva deceived me. But I still believe you told me the truth, that it's past with you both now, and I suppose it's best to let things go—even for Astry."
"You never seem to think of yourself."
She colored deeply. "I've thought much of myself."
He saw the blush and a pang of hideous jealousy tore through the remorse of his mood, but he gripped himself again. "I know you hate me!" he began.
Rachel looked up quickly. "I don't hate you, far from it. I'm sorry for you."
He smiled grimly, thinking of Charter. Had he come here to do Charter's bidding after all? But he was resolved to go on. "Thank you," he said, "I have, it seems, the beggar's meed—pity! Yet I feel that my very presence here must be hateful to you. I've traded on your generosity, your womanliness, even your pity. I've felt at times that I'd be content to be a dog on your hearth-rug, but it's not so now. Every day I'm with you I grow to love you more deeply—"