"Yes—I know," he answered quietly, and the pain in his eyes made her half regret her own daring. "The only two big difficulties in the way are my father—and Paul."
"I see a whole army of others almost as big."
"That is only because you are always in sympathy with the man's point of view."
"A matter like this ought to be looked at first and foremost from the man's point of view. The truth is, Theo, that you have simply appealed to me in the hope of having your own Quixotic notion confirmed. You want me to say, 'Yes, go; you will be doing quite right.' And—think what you will of me—I flatly refuse to say it!"
He regarded her for a few seconds in an admiring silence, the smile deepening in his eyes. Then:
"Don't you think you are a little hard on me?" he said at length. "It is not altogether easy to do—this sort of thing."
Honor made no immediate reply, though the strongest chords of her being vibrated in response to his words. Then she rose also, and stood before him; her head tilted a little upwards; her candid eyes resting deliberately upon his own. Standing thus, at her full height, she appeared commandingly beautiful, but in the stress of the moment the fact counted for nothing with either of them. All the hidden forces of her nature were set to remove the dogged line from his mouth; and he himself, looking on the fair outward show of her, saw only a mind clear as crystal, lit up by the white light of truth.
For an instant they fronted one another—spirits of equal strength. Then Honor spoke.
"If I do seem hard on you, it is only because I want, above all things, to convince you that your idea is wrong from every point of view. You have paid me a very high compliment to-day. I want you to pay me a still higher one: to believe that I am speaking the simple truth, as I see it, from a woman's standpoint, not merely trying to save you from unhappiness. May I speak out straight?"