"Yes; I know." Her lips brushed his cheek in sweet contrition. "That was mean of me. But I just—don't—want—to—marry you." She spaced the words with rhythmic deliberation. "I don't want to marry anybody.... And have a lot of kids.... And look like Con does now. She waddles.... Cary, were you her lover?" she demanded abruptly.
"No!"
"I couldn't bear it if you had been. But you'd say that anyway, wouldn't you? Even to me?"
"It's quite true. I never was."
"If anyone asked you that about me you'd swear by all your gods you weren't. Wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"You'd lie about it? I hate to think of your lying. I wonder whether I would if it was put up to me or whether I'd admit that we are lovers." She brooded darkly for a moment over the word. "I didn't mean to be, you know," she added naïvely.
"Whatever fault there was is mine," he claimed hoarsely. "If there is any just God——"
She slipped her fingers over his lips, cutting him short. "Don't, Cary. Don't say 'if.' Of course there is."
"Then He will hold me responsible; not you."