"No, not entirely, although I did comprehend you were sorry you had
consented to come."

"Not that altogether," and her eyes uplifting met mine, "I was
frightened last night in the darkness. I confess I completely lost my
nerve, and would have run away if I could. Perhaps I even said things
which made you believe I regretted my action in coming with you. But I
am more myself now, and I mean to remain, and discover what it all
means. Can you guess why?"

"No; I would naturally suppose the night would have added to your
terror, your desire to get away."

"Then you do not suspect even now who I am?"

"Who you are? Only as you have told me."

"And I told you only a half truth. I am the wife of Philip Henley."
Her cheeks flushed, a touch of passion in her voice as she faced me.
"That is the truth. Do you suppose that I would ever have come here
with you otherwise? No matter how desperate my condition was that
would have been impossible. I should have despised myself. Even as it
was I have been thoroughly shamed to have permitted you to think of me
as you must. Now I tell you the truth--I consented to come because I
am Philip Henley's wife."

My surprise at this swift avowal kept me silent, yet I could not
conceal the admiration from revealment in my eyes. She must have read
aright, for she drew back a step, grasping the knob of the door.