“Seymour, I don’t believe that!”
He was silent, looking at her with the old dog’s eyes. But now there was something else in them besides faithfulness.
“Well, Adela,” he said at last, “I believe very much in absolute sincerity between real friends. But I suppose friendship must be very real indeed to stand absolute sincerity. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do. But our friendship is as real as any friendship can be, I think.”
“Yes, but on my side it is mixed up, it has always been mixed up, with something else.”
“Yes, I know,” she said in a low voice.
“And besides I’m afraid, if I speak quite frankly, I shall hurt you, my dear!”
“Then—hurt me, Seymour!”
“Shall I? Can I do that?”
“Be frank with me. I have been very frank with you. I have told you.”