She looked defiantly at Janet, and the little room with its simple furnishings seemed too small a stage for such an energy of fear and distress.
"Yes—that you could bear," said Janet quietly, "with him to help you—and God. It would all straighten out in the end—because the first step would be right."
Rachel turned upon her.
"Now that I've told you," she cried, "can you ever think the same of me again? You know you can't!"
Janet caught her cold hands, and held them close, looking up to her.
"Not the same—no, not the same! But if I cared for you before, Rachel—I care for you ten thousand times more now. Don't you see?—it will be the same with him?"
Rachel shook her head.
"No—a man's different," she repeated, "a man's different!"
"Anyway, you must," said Janet resolutely, "you know you must. You don't need me to tell you."
Rachel wrenched herself away with a little moan and hid her face in her hands as she leaned against the mantelpiece. Janet, looking up, and transfigured by that spiritual energy, that ultimate instinctive faith which was the root force in her, went on, pleading.