Although Yetta listened intently, she was all the time thinking not so much of Mrs. Karner as of what she typified—the unknown life of the man she loved, the things he had not told her.
"Am I forgiven?" he asked, kneeling beside her and taking her hand.
"Oh! Forgiven! That isn't it. Who am I to forgive you or blame you? It's that I don't understand. And when I don't understand, I'm afraid."
"You mustn't be afraid of the past, darling."
"I don't know about that. When it comes to love, I can't think of any past or present or future. It's just somehow eternally always and now and for ever and ever. I'm not sure we can get away from the past. I can't explain it very well, but some things are real and some aren't. I don't think I'll ever get rid of the real things which have come to me. They'll never die."
"Well, don't worry about Beatrice,—that was only an interlude—not 'real.'"
"And Mabel?"
"A dream."
"But some dreams are real," she insisted.