He turned pale and murmured:
"Suzanne, I am your friend. Be my friend, simply, and let your imagination ..."
"You're afraid," she said.
He tried to jest:
"Afraid! Goodness gracious me, of what?"
"Afraid of the one little affectionate action which I ask of you, the action of a brother kissing his sister. That's what you shrink from, Philippe."
"I shrink from it because it is wrong and wicked," he declared, firmly. "That is the only reason."
"No, Philippe, there is another reason."
"Which is that?"