"I refuse to explain—I can't tell you, Teddy."
"Because it would be betraying his secret—eh?" I remarked with bitterness. "And, yet, in the same breath you have told me you hate him. Surely, this attitude of yours is an unusual one—is it not? You cannot hate him and strive to shield him at the same moment!"
She paused for a second before replying. Then she said:
"I admit that my attitude towards your friend is a somewhat strange one, but there are reasons—strong, personal reasons of my own—which prevent me revealing to you the whole of what is a strange and ghastly story. Surely it will suffice you to know that I did not conceal all knowledge of your friend and call upon him in secret all of my own free will. No, Teddy, I loved you—and I still love you, dear—far too well for that."
"I trusted you, Phrida, but you deceived me," I replied, with a poignant bitterness in my heart.
"Under compulsion. Because——" and she paused with a look of terror in her eyes.
"Because what?" I asked slowly, placing my hand tenderly upon her shoulder.
She shrank from contact with me.
"No. I—I can't tell you. It—it's all too terrible, too horrible!" she whispered hoarsely, covering her white face with her hands. "I loved you, but, alas! all my happiness, all the joy of which I have so long dreamed, has slipped away from me because of the one false step—my one foolish action—of which I have so long repented."
"Tell me, Phrida," I urged, in deep earnestness, bending down to her. "Confide in me."