"It wasn't so odd, given some of the circumstances; but given them all—all—I should say, I ought to have known."
She allowed a few seconds to pass.
"I suppose," she said, slowly, then, "that may fairly be considered a matter of opinion. I don't see, however, that it makes much difference—since you know now."
"My knowing or not knowing now isn't quite the point. The fact of importance is that you never told me."
"I'm sorry you should take it in that way; but since I didn't—and the matter is beyond remedy—I suppose we shouldn't gain anything by discussing it."
"I don't know about that. It seems to me a subject that ought to be—aired."
She tried to smile down his aggressiveness, succeeding partially, in that he subdued the quarrelsomeness of his voice and manner to that affectation of banter behind which he concealed habitually his real self, and by which he most easily deceived her.
"Very well," she laughed; "I'm quite ready to air it; only I don't know just how it's to be done."
"Suppose you were to tell me what happened, in your own language?"
"If Mr. Ford has told you already, as I imagine he has, I don't see that my language can be very different from his. All the same, I'll try, since you want me to."