Always she had known that this might come some time, but always too she had seen David bearing the brunt of it. He should bear it. It was not of her doing or of her approving. For years the danger of discovery had hung over her like a cloud.
“Do you know which?” he persisted.
“Yes, Dick.”
“Would you have the unbelievable cruelty not to tell me?”
She got up, a taut little figure with a dignity born of her fear and of her love for him.
“I shall not betray David's confidence,” she said. “Long ago I warned him that this time would come. I was never in favor of keeping you in ignorance. But it is David's problem, and I cannot take the responsibility of telling you.”
He knew her determination and her obstinate loyalty. But he was fairly desperate.
“You know that if you don't tell me, I shall go to David?”
“If you go now you will kill him.”
“It's as bad as that, is it?” he asked grimly. “Then there is something shameful behind it, is there?”