"I was thinking about you," he said.
"How nice of you," she said quietly.
"You prefer me to Fletcher Denyer?"
"How can you ask such an absurd question?"
"I was wondering whether I loved you; I was thinking whether you would be my wife, if I had the courage to ask you."
"Try," she said, her eyes on him.
"Do you really love me?" he asked.
"You know I do; you must have known it from the first time we met."
"There should be no secrets between us," he said. "I have something to tell you."
She turned pale, a faint shiver passed through her; he noticed it. Would she confess what she had done?