In one literal sense, Eglington was not guilty of deceit.

Never in so many words had he said to her: "I love you;" never had he made any promise to her or exacted one; he had done no more than lure her to feel one thing, and then to call it another thing.

Also there was no direct and vital injury, for she had never loved him; though how far she had travelled towards that land of light and trial she could never now declare.

These thoughts flashed through her mind as she stood looking at her father.

Her tongue seemed imprisoned, yet her soft and candid eyes conquered the austerity in the old man's gaze.
Eglington spoke for her.
"Permit me to answer, neighbour," he said.