"Dear Hugo!"
"And I loved you—a little—not in the way I loved Kitty—but as a saint—an angel. Do you think you could forgive me if I had wronged you!"
"Yes, dear, I believe so."
"If you forgive me, I shall think that there is some hope. But I don't know. Brian is there still, is he not? I have something to say to him."
Brian came forward, a little reluctantly. Hugo looked at him with those melancholy, sunken eyes, in which a sort of fire seemed to smoulder still.
"Brian will never forgive me," he said.
"Yes, Hugo, he will," said Angela.
Brian gave an inarticulate murmur, whether of assent or dissent they could not tell. But he did not look at Hugo's face.
"I know," said Hugo. "It doesn't matter. I don't care. I was justified in what I did."
"You hear," said Brian to Angela, in a very low voice.