"You mean to tell me...."
He was stammering in a husky voice, and she said quite calmly:
"I mean to tell you that in substance and in fact what you implied was false."
There was a dry glitter in her eyes which she tried to subdue, for she knew that he was looking at her still.
"If ... if...."—his voice was thick and indistinct—"if you tell me that I have done you an injury...."
"You have—a terrible injury."
She could hear his breathing, but she dared not look up, lest he should see something in her face.
"Perhaps you think it strange," she said, "that I should ask you to accept my assurance only. But though you have done me a great wrong I believe you will accept it."
"If ... if you give me your solemn word of honour that what I said—what I implied—was false, that rumour and report have slandered you, that it is all a cruel and baseless calumny...."
She raised her head, looked him full in the face.