She brushed the soft dew from her eyes with her lace handkerchief, and looked up at him with her soft, wondering glance.
"Well?" she said.
He did not look at her in return; his shifting eyes fell to the ground, as was their wonted habit.
"When I found the locket lying on the ground the lid was open. I saw the two faces it held," he said, in a strange, hesitating voice.
"Well?" she repeated, gravely, while a flush rose over her fair face.
"They—were not strange to me," he replied; "I was startled when I saw whose were the faces you wore always over your heart. Miss Berlin, will you tell me what that man and woman are to you?"
He saw her start and shiver—saw the warm crimson flash into her face, then recede again, leaving it deathly pale and cold. She clasped her hands over the locket, pressing it tightly to her beating heart, while she answered hoarsely and with downcast eyes:
"I cannot tell you, Mr. Revington; it is a secret, and that secret belongs to another. I have no right to reveal it."