He seemed, after a long silence, to accept her sense of necessity as sufficient reason. "Will it cut him up very much, do you think?" he asked.
"It will change everything very much, I think," said Amabel.
"Do you mean—that he will blame you?—"
"I don't think that he can love me any longer."
There was no hint of self-pity in her calm tones and Sir Hugh could only formulate his resentment and his protest—and they were bitter,—by a muttered—"Oh—I say!—I say!—"
He went on presently; "And will you go on living here, perhaps alone?"
"Alone, I think; yes, I shall live here; I do not find it dismal, you know."
Sir Hugh felt himself again looking reluctantly into darkness. "But—how will you manage it, Amabel?" he asked.
And her voice seemed to come, in all serenity, from the darkness; "I shall manage it."
Yes, the awe hovered near him as he realised that what, to him, meant darkness, to her meant life. She would manage it. She had managed to live through everything.