"Then, my dear girl, you can't—in common decency—not tell him. Hang it all, you've got to give the man a chance."
"A chance to escape? You talk as if I'd set a trap for him."
"My dear child, you haven't sense enough to set a trap. But, since there are spring-guns in his neighbourhood, I repeat that you ought to inform him of the fact. I dare say he wouldn't funk a spring-gun on his own account, but he may not want his children to be hurt."
"I know. He'd be afraid I should contaminate them. I wouldn't, Wilfrid, I wouldn't. I wouldn't hurt them for the world."
"I'm sure you wouldn't. But he might think you would. The fathers of little girls sometimes have strange prejudices. You see it's all very well as long as you can keep him in his beautiful innocence. But, if he finds out that you've deceived him, he—well, he might resent it."
He never turned his eyes from that livid, vulnerable spot, striking at it with the sword-thrust of his point.
"A man can forgive many things in a woman, but not that."
"I must risk it. He mayn't find out for years and years. If I tell him I shall lose him now."
"Not necessarily. Not if he cares for you as much as I should say he does."
"It doesn't matter how much he cares. He'd never marry me."