There was no retreat. Any denial of words would be useless, and it was the only way to end things after all. She lifted her eyes to his and spoke calmly, though the color had fled from her cheeks and her face was deathly pale. “Yes, Ferdinand, you are entitled to know it. I do love some one else, and I love him better than my life!”
“I knew it!” De Peyster exclaimed, dejectedly.
There was a long pause, during which he struggled bravely with himself.
“Tell me who it is,” he said, at length. “Of course, this makes it different.”
Inez could not help admiring the unexpected strength.
“No, Ferdinand, I cannot. This is my secret, and you must not question further.”
“But it must be some one here, for you told me just before you sailed that there was no one.”
“Perhaps here—perhaps elsewhere. You must leave it there, Ferdinand. If you care for me, as you say you do, I ask you to leave it there.”
De Peyster bowed submissively and shared her evident desire for silence during the few moments which remained of their drive.
Helen and Jack met them at the villa, and were greatly disappointed that Ferdinand declined their pressing invitation to stay for supper in the garden. A promise that he would take tea with them on the following afternoon was all they could secure from him, and when Inez rushed up-stairs promptly upon his departure Jack looked at Helen meaningly.