"I know," she answered, and her voice was quick with pain. "I
know. But--we can't go on--like this. It--just isn't bearable.
If--even if you can't understand me--Burke, won't you--won't you
try at least to give me--the benefit of the doubt?"
It was very winningly spoken, but as she spoke she leaned her head
suddenly against the arm she held and stifled a sob. "For both our
sakes!" she whispered.
But Burke stood, rigid as rock, staring straight before him into
the glaring sunlight. She did not know what was passing in his
mind; that was the trouble of it. But she felt his grim resistance
like a wall of granite, blocking her way. And the brave heart of
her sank in spite of all her courage.
He moved at last, but it was a movement of constraint. He laid his
free hand on her shoulder. "Crying won't help," he said. "I think
we had better be getting back."
And then, for the sake of the old love, she made her supreme
effort. She lifted her face; it was white to the lips, but it bore
no sign of tears. "I can't go," she said, "till--I have seen Guy."
He made a sharp gesture. "Ah!" he said. "I thought that was
coming."
"Yes, you knew it! You knew it!" Passionately she uttered the
words. "It's the one thing that's got to be settled between
us--the only thing left that counts. Yes, you mean to refuse.
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