"Dear creature," he murmured, "you are very true to yourself." "And to you," she pleaded, "always to you too.

Has there ever been anything but the clearest honesty between us?
Ah, my friend, that is valuable--there are so few people who inspire it." She had risen again, and he found himself shame-facedly holding her hand.

His conscience roused itself and smote him mightily.

Had there always been this absolute single-mindedness between them?
"You make it necessary for me to tell you," he said slowly, "that there is one thing between us you do not know.

I saw you at Cheynemouth on the stage." "I know you did," she smiled at him.