She took out a
drawing, and laid it before him. He neither saw it nor heard
what she remarked.
"Lillian," he said, suddenly, "if you were asked what was the
most deadly sin a woman could commit, what should you reply?"
"That is a strange question," she answered. "I do not know,
Lionel. I think I hate all sin alike."
"Then I will tell you," he said bitterly; "it is false, foul
deceit--black, heartless treachery."
She looked up in amazement at his angry tone; then there was for
some moments unbroken silence.
"I can not see the drawings," he said; "take them away. Lillian
Earle, raise your eyes to mine; look me straight in the face.
How long is it since I asked you to be my wife?"
Her gentle eyes never wavered, they were fixed half in wonder on
his, but at his question the faint flush on her cheeks grew
deeper.
"Not very long," she replied; "a few days."
"You said you loved me," he continued.
"I do," she said.
"Now, answer me again. Have you ever loved or cared for any one
else, as you say you do for me?"
"Never," was the quiet reply.
"Pray pardon the question--have you received the attentions of
any lover before receiving mine?"
"Certainly not," she said, wondering still more.
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