And then, I suppose, you're right for yourself."
"You're about the only person who'll say so."
"I daresay. I've learnt about you in learning about myself. And I can
feel it just as you do--Oh, how intolerably strongly sometimes!" She
added with a smile, "We've only just missed suiting one another," and
then, "Yes, but we have missed, you know."
"I don't believe it," he persisted, struggling to throw off the new doubt
she was thrusting into his mind. His thought was that, once she got free
of her husband, she would indeed be his. That he must hold to. It was
Quisante, not she herself, who made her now feel strange to him; and
Quisante's spell was not to last; her quiet certitude that her husband's
days were numbered carried conviction to him also. "But I won't talk any
more about it now," he said.
"No, it seems inhuman," she agreed. "I spend all my days cheating myself
into a hope that he'll get better. I know you don't like him, but if you
lived with him as I do, you'd come to hope as I do. Yes, in spite of all
you know about us; and you know more than anybody alive.
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