Excerpt: ...is false; to pretend before those who see us that nothing is changed. I do not forget that I have been doing this thing which is unworthy of me. But it is the first time-try not to believe it to be my character. I am compelled to tell you that it is one of the humiliations you have forced upon me." "I have understood this," he said hastily, breaking the silence she had imposed upon him. "Then let it pass," she cried nervously. "It is enough that I have been obliged to observe my own hypocrisies, and that I have asked you to countenance and to conceal them." He offered no response. And in a little while she went on: "I ought to tell you one thing more. Last week I made all my arrangements to go away at once, for the summer, for a long time. I did not expect to see you again. Two or three times I started to the station. I have stayed until now because it seemed best after all to speak to you once more. This is my reason for being here to-night; and it is the only apology I can offer to myself or to you for what I am doing." There was a sad and bitter vehemence in her words; she quivered with passion. "Isabel," he said more urgently, "there is nothing I am not prepared to tell you." When she spoke again, it was with difficulty and everything seemed to hang upon her question: "Does any one else know?" His reply was immediate: "No one else knows." "Have you every reason to believe this?" "I have every reason to believe this." "You kept your secret well," she said with mournful irony. "You reserved it for the one person whom it could most injure: my privilege is too great!" "It is true," he said. She turned and looked at him. She felt the depth of conviction with which he spoke, yet it hurt her. She liked his dignity and his self-control, and would not have had them less; yet she gathered fresh bitterness from the fact that he did not lose them. But to her each moment disclosed its new and uncontrollable emotions; as words came, her mind quickly filled...