"Merely because I wished to see you, as I've already explained," was his reply. "I wanted to ask you those questions which I have put to you this afternoon."
"About poor Harry?" she remarked in a hoarse, low voice. "But you begged me to reply to you in my own interests—why?"
"Because I wished to know the real truth."
"Well, I've told you the truth," she said with just the slightest tinge of defiance in her voice.
For a moment he did not speak. He had halted; his grave eyes were fixed upon her.
"Have you told me the whole truth—all that you know, Enid?" he asked very quietly a moment later.
"What more should I know?" she protested after a second's hesitation.
"How can I tell?" he asked quickly. "I only ask you to place me in possession of all the facts within your knowledge."
"Why do you ask me this?" she cried. "Is it out of mere idle curiosity? Or is it because—because, knowing that Harry loved me, you wish to cause me pain by recalling those tragic circumstances?"
"Neither," was his quiet answer in a low, sympathetic voice. "I am your friend, Enid. And if you will allow me, I will assist you."