A certain confusion had come into Julian's expression, even a certain echoing awkwardness into his attitude. He looked away into the fire and lighted another cigarette before he answered. Then he said rather unevenly:
"I dare say you'll be surprised when I tell you. But I never meant to tell you at all."
"Don't, if you would rather not."
"Yes, I think I will. I must stop you from disliking yourself at any cost, dear old boy. Well, you converted me, so far as I am converted; and that's not very far, I'm afraid."
"I?" said Valentine, with genuine surprise. "Why, I never tried to."
"Exactly. If you had, no doubt you'd have failed."
"But explain."
"I've never told you all you do for me, Val. You are my armour against all these damned things. When I'm with you, I hate the notion of being a sinner. I never hated it before I met you. In fact, I loved it. I wanted sin more than I wanted anything in heaven or earth. And then—just at the critical moment when I was passing from boyhood into manhood, I met you."
He stopped. His brown cheeks were glowing, and he avoided Valentine's gaze.
"Go on, Julian," Valentine said. "I want to hear this."