Two visions—one was of Mrs Byers and the babies in Portland Place—rose before Byers’ thoughts.
“He hasn’t lost much then,” he said. “And you? You’ll be just as happy.”
“It was the whole world to me,” said she, and for the last time she put her handkerchief to her eyes. Then she stowed it away in her pocket and looked expectantly at her visitor; here was the permission to go.
“Will you take the money?” said he.
“What money?”
“What I’ve made. My share of it.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! What do I care what money you’ve made?”
He spoke lower as he put his second question.
“Will you forgive me?” he asked.
“Forgive you?” She laughed a little, yet looked puzzled. “I don’t think about you like that,” she explained. “You’re not a man to me.”