"Because—" she began, but could not tell him the whole truth. And yet what she said was true. "Because you would not let me," she muttered.
"In the churchyard, you mean—on her wedding-day?"
"Before that."
"But before that I never guessed."
"All the same, I knew what you were. You wouldn't have let me. It came to the same thing. And if I had told—Oh, you make it hard for me!" she wailed.
He stared at her, understanding this only—that somehow he could control her will.
"I will never let you tell," he said, gravely.
"I hate her!"
"You shall not tell."
"Listen"—she drew close and touched his arm. "He never cared for her; it's not his way to care. She cares for him now, I dessay—not as she might have cared for you—but she's his wife, and some women are like that. There's her pride, anyway. Suppose—suppose he came back to me?"