She was sitting perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her, her veil drawn down.
"May I say one word to you?" he said, gently.
She did not speak.
"It is this. What I have confessed to you to-night is, of course, buried between us. It is as though it had never been said. I have given you pain. I ask your pardon from the bottom of my heart, and, at the same time"--his voice trembled--"I thank God that I had the courage to do it!"
She threw him a glance that showed her a quivering lip and the pallor of intense emotion.
"I know you think you were right," she said, in a voice dull and strained, "but henceforth we can only be enemies. You have tyrannized over me in the name of standards that you revere and I reject. I can only beg you to let my life alone for the future."
He said nothing. She rose, dizzily, to her feet. They were rapidly approaching the pier.
With the cold aloofness of one who feels it more dignified to submit than to struggle, she allowed him to assist her in landing. He put her into the Victoria train, travelling himself in another carriage.