When he let her go his face was white.
"There is no excuse for me," he said. "I know that. I've given my word of honor to that little child—who trusts me. Yet—this room belongs to you. Before you came to-night I touched the lilacs with my lips, and it seemed to me as if they were your lips—that I touched. And when I turned and saw you—white—like a bride—on the threshold—it was as I had seen you, night after night—in my dreams. You belong here and no other, Diana!"
What she said in reply Diana could never remember with any great distinctness. She only knew that she was trying to hold on as best she could to the best that was within her. Anthony in this moment of weakness was hers. Whatever she did now would bring him to her or send him away—perhaps forever. She struggled to think clearly—to raise some barrier between his awakened passion and her own wild desire to take what the gods had placed within easy reach of her hand.
Suddenly she found herself speaking. Her throat was dry and she was shaking from head to foot. But she was telling him that she had tried to use common sense. That she had asked Bettina to come to her hoping that there might be found some way out. But there wasn't any way out, not any honorable way. And she didn't dare play Fate any longer. Not after to-night. Not after—to-night.
Her voice broke.
"Diana—dear girl——"
He put both of his strong hands on her shoulders, and so they faced each other in the illumined night.
"For just one little moment," he said, "we will have the truth. If I had not asked Betty you would have married me, Diana?"
"Yes."
"If there is any honorable way in which I can release myself, will you marry me now?"