"Merry! child! what are you saying!" he cried.
"Have I hurt you again?"
"Not hurt me; but you make it hard for me to be fair to our friendship."
"Can't we be friends—because of her?"
Huntington turned to her gently, taking her hand in his. His face showed the force of the emotion which fought for supremacy, but the calmness with which he spoke evidenced his control.
"I have tried to be fair to our friendship," he repeated, "but you must not misunderstand. I wonder if it would be more kind to tell you the truth, even though it cost me what I value so."
"Don't,—please don't!" she begged.
"I fear I must," he said with decision, "no matter what it costs. Whether this strain with Hamlen has weakened my resolve, or because the romance of the Japanese Benten hovers over this spot and bids me speak, I must tell you, little girl, that my friendship has only been a blind to cover something far deeper, which I have no right to offer you. The time has come for you to know that, for it will tell you what you are to me. I would relinquish all I possess to turn back the years until they gave me the right to ask you to be my wife."
She started to her feet and tried to speak, but he stopped her.
"You don't need to answer," he insisted. "I understand only too well."