Her eyes met his seriously. “Mr. Vaughan,” she said, “my presence must seem extraordinary to you. But I am come to ask you a question. Why did you tell me six months ago that you loved me if you did not?”
He was as deeply agitated as she was quiet on the surface. “I told you nothing but the truth,” he said.
“No,” she said.
“But yes! A hundred times, yes!” he cried.
“Then you are altered? That is it?”
“Never!” he cried. “Never!”
“And yet—things are changed? My father wrote to you, did he not, three days ago? And said as much as you could look to him to say?”
“He said——”
“He withdrew what he had uttered in an unfortunate moment. He withdrew that which, I think, he had never believed in his heart. He said as much as you could expect him to say?” she repeated, her colour mounting a little, her eyes challenging him with courageous firmness.
“He said,” Vaughan answered in a low voice, “what I think it became him to say.”