Don't tell me anything.

I don't ask you--I don't want to know." He spoke rapidly, in the grip of his first impulse to shield her from what she had done.
But he felt her begin to tremble under his fingers, and he stopped as suddenly as he had begun.
"You no glad?
You think shame for me?
You think I--all time--very--bad!" Tragedy was in her voice, and in her great, dark eyes.

Good Indian gulped.
"No, Rachel.

I don't think that.

I want to help you out of this, if I can, and I meant that if you didn't tell me anything about it, why--I wouldn't know anything about it.