Indeed I do.

I respect you for it.

Do you remember the old Italian story of Ser Federigo and his falcon?
How he hid his poverty like a knightly gentleman?
You see what I mean, don't you?
You mustn't be angry with me!" Her words were Gilead balm of instantaneous healing.
"Angry ?" His voice quavered.

In a revulsion of emotion he turned blindly, seized her hand and kissed it.

It was all he could do.
"If I have found it out--not just now," she quickly interjected, seeing him wince, "but long ago--it was not your fault.