There is no use in your knowing." She had never considered that, either.
"But _ought_ I to know, Duane ?" "No," he said miserably, "you ought not." She sat upright for a few seconds longer, gazing thoughtfully at space, then pressed her pale face against his knee again in silent faith and confidence.
"Anyway, I know you will be fair to me in your own way," she said.
"There is only one way that I know how to be fair to you.

Listen." And in a shamed voice she forced herself to recite her list of sins; repeating them as she had confessed them to Kathleen.

She told him everything; her silly and common imprudence with Dysart, which, she believed, had bordered the danger mark; her ignoble descent to what she had always held aloof from, meaning demoralisation in regard to betting and gambling and foolish language; and last, but most shameful, her secret and perilous temporising with a habit which already was making self-denial very difficult for her.

She did not spare herself; she told him everything, searching the secret recesses of her heart for some small sin in hiding, some fault, perhaps, overlooked or forgotten.

All that she held unworthy in her she told this man; and the man, being an average man, listened, head bowed over her fragrant hair, adoring her, wretched in heart and soul with the heavy knowledge of all he dare not tell or forget or cleanse from him, kneeling repentant, in the sanctuary of her love and confidence.
She told him everything--sins of omission, childish depravities, made real only by the decalogue.