Still he was not wishful to tell her the story of Mrs. Hurtle. The treachery of which he was speaking was that which he had thought had been committed by his friend towards himself. "He should have left the place and never have come near you," said Roger, "when he found how it was likely to be with him. He owed it to me not to take the cup of water from my lips."
How was she to tell him that the cup of water never could have touched his lips? And yet if this were the only falsehood of which he had to tell, she was bound to let him know that it was so. That horrid story of Mrs. Hurtle;--she would listen to that if she could hear it. She would be all ears for that. But she could not admit that her lover had sinned in loving her. "But, Roger," she said--"it would have been the same."

Still he did not wish to tell her the story of Mrs. Hurtle. His friend's falseness had been towards himself. "He should have left the place and never have come near you," said Roger, "when he found how it was likely to be with him. He owed it to me not to take the cup of water from my lips."
Hetta could not admit that her lover had sinned in loving her. "But, Roger," she said, "the result would have been the same."
