. . Oh,
no, I couldn't do that. I've nothing to offer him--now--nothing to
give--neither faith nor trust, because I know the whole truth." She
spoke with the quiet finality of one who can see no hope, no possibility
of better things, anywhere. The words "Too late!" beat in her brain like
the pendulum of a clock, maddeningly insistent.
"If only I had been content to go to him without knowing!" she went on
tonelessly. "But that paragraph in the paper--it frightened me. I felt
that I _must know_ if--if I had been wronging him all the time. And I
had!" she ended wearily. "I had." Then, after a moment: "So you see, I
can't go back to him."
"You--can't--go--back?" The words fell slowly, one by one, from Olga's
lips. "Do you mean that you won't go back now--now that you know he has
never failed you as you thought he had? . . . Oh!"--rapidly--"you can't
mean that. You won't--you can't refuse to go back now."
Diana lifted a grey, drawn face.
"Don't you see," she said monotonously, "it's just because of
that--because he hasn't failed me while I've failed him so utterly--that
I can't go back?"
Olga turned on her swiftly, her green eyes blazing dangerously.
"It's your pride!" she cried fiercely. "It's your damnable pride that's
standing in the way! Merciful heavens! Did you ever love him, I wonder,
that you're too proud to ask his forgiveness now--now when you know what
you've done?"
Diana's lips moved in a pitiful attempt at a smile.
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