He came back to her. He took her cold hand once more in his.
“Forgive me,” he said, “for thinking first of Blanche.”
Blanche’s name seemed to rouse her. The life came back to her face; the tender brightness began to shine again in her eyes. He saw that he might venture to speak more plainly still: he went on.
“I see the dreadful sacrifice as you see it. I ask myself, have I any right, has Blanche any right—”
She stopped him by a faint pressure of his hand.
“Yes,” she said, softly, “if Blanche’s happiness depends on it.”