His mind was framing a question--one he must ask without committing himself or her.

He was running a parallel, really--reading her heart by a flank movement.
"Kate, dear ?" He had regained his position although he still kept hold of her hand.
"Yes, Uncle George." "Did you write to Harry, as I asked you ?" "No, it wouldn't have done any good.

I have had troubles enough of my own without adding any to his." "Were you afraid he would not answer it ?" She lifted her head and tightened her fingers about his own, her wet eyes looking into his.
"I was afraid of myself.

I have never known my own mind and I don't know it now.

I have played fast and loose with everybody--I can't bind up a broken arm and then break it again." "Wouldn't it be better to try ?" he said softly.
"No, I don't think so." St.George released her hand and settled back in his chair; his face grew grave.