"Did I say that Milly was worried about you? It was hardly that, I think; though, of course, she was glad to see you out of danger. Of course she was glad; how could anyone so gentle-hearted as Milly not be? But if you ask me what she did feel, I must tell you the truth. You want the truth, don't you? It is much better—for you and for Milly, isn't it, that there should be no misunderstandings?"—Dick nodded—his eyes fixed on her. "What Milly said, in the winter, when we had news of your danger,—was that it was rather dreadful to realize that if you were killed it would hardly affect her more than the death of any of the men who had come to tea with us the day before."
The knife had fallen and her victim, after a moment, turned dazed eyes away from her. "Milly said that? About me?"
"I was shocked," Christina murmured. She heard, as if from a far distance, the strange, hushed quality of her voice. Her own blood seemed to have been arrested.
"She wouldn't have minded more than that?"
"She said, when I reproached her, that I could only expect her to be solemn, not sorry, over the death of a man for whom she had no affection, a man she had almost hated. Mr. Quentyn, I am so grieved for you. Of course, she doesn't hate you now; but I am afraid you have allowed yourself false hopes about Milly."
Dick, now, had risen to his feet and, facing her as she sat, he gazed over her head at the rhododendrons. "I wonder why she wanted me to come for a walk this morning. Yes, I did have false hopes. I thought that meant something. I've thought that all sorts of little things might mean something."
"Milly is so sweet and kind when she feels no pressure, no alarm. I thought, for a moment last night, that she meant you to have the walk alone. But as soon as you were gone she insisted on my coming with you. I've tried to help you, Mr. Quentyn. I've given you every chance. But there isn't any chance." It was well to do it thoroughly.
There was bewilderment and humiliation—at last humiliation—on Dick's face; but of incredulity not a trace. "I know how kind you've been," he said. "I've felt it."
Christina, now, had also risen. A dart of keenest pity, even admiration, went through her, horridly painful. "I am so dreadfully sorry," she murmured. "I had to tell you—since you asked me;—I didn't want you to hurt Milly—and yourself—uselessly."
"I know. I perfectly understand," said Dick.