Really, how should I?
You see, I have work on my mind." As if to cover his awkwardness, he seized his pen and hastily began to cross out a phrase on the page before him.
"Allan!" Though low, it was so near a cry that he looked up in what seemed to be alarm.

She was leaning forward in the chair, one hand reaching toward him over the desk, and she spoke rapidly.
"Allan, I find myself suspecting now that you tried to deceive me this afternoon--that Bernal did, also, incredible as it sounds--that you tried to take the blame of that wretched thing off his shoulders.

That letter to him indicates it, his own pitiful embarrassment just now--oh, an honest man wouldn't have looked as he did!--your own manner at this instant.

You are both trying--Oh, tell me the truth now!--you'll never dream how badly I need it, what it means to my whole life--tell me, Allan--for God's sake be honest this instant--my poor head is whirling with all the lies! Let me feel there is truth somewhere.Listen.I swear I'll stay by it, wherever it takes me--here or away from here--but I must have it.

Oh, Allan, if it should be in you, after all--Allan! dear, _dear_--Oh! I do see it now--you _can't_ deceive--you _can't_ deceive!" Slowly at first his head bent under her words, bent in cowardly evasion of her sharp glance, the sidelong shiftings of his eyes portraying him, the generous liar, brought at last to bay by his own honest clumsiness.
Then, as her appeal grew warmer, tenderer, more insistent, the fine head was suddenly erected and proud confession was written plainly over the glowing face--that beautiful contrition of one who has willed to bear a brother's shame and failed from lack of genius in the devious ways of deceit.
Now he stood nobly from his chair and she was up with a little loving rush to his arms.