"Don't you love me?" I persisted.
Lady raised her eyes sadly. "There can be no such thing for you and me. I have told you why."
"What have you told me?"
"I've told you that even if I did—care for you—that I could not let myself care—that I can only see you even, when you treat me as a friend, and only as a friend."
"You told me once, I remember, that there was some one else. I think now that you were mistaken. There neither is nor can be any one else."
"But there is." The words were scarcely audible, and her eyes were turned away from me.
"I know perhaps what you mean. I didn't know at the time—but I think I do now. Do you mean that the some one else, the person who stands between you and me, is your mother?"
Lady looked past me blankly. "My mother?" she questioned.
"You must see that I have to know the real truth now," I said. "You can surely trust me; and I am trying for something that means more than life. Lady, you must answer me fairly. Is it not because of your mother that you say these things?"
"What do you know of my mother?"