“It seems to me a great deal.”
“It’s what she’d already asked me.” His voice showed her how deeply he was moved, and a throb of jealousy shot through her.
“Oh, it was for your sake, I know!” He made no answer, and she added: “She’s been exceedingly generous.... Why shouldn’t we speak of it?”
She had lowered her head, but through her dropped lids she seemed to be watching the crowded scene of his face.
“I’ve not shrunk from speaking of it.”
“Speaking of her, then, I mean. It seems to me that if I could talk to you about her I should know better——”
She broke off, confused, and he questioned: “What is it you want to know better?”
The colour rose to her forehead. How could she tell him what she scarcely dared own to herself? There was nothing she did not want to know, no fold or cranny of his secret that her awakened imagination did not strain to penetrate; but she could not expose Sophy Viner to the base fingerings of a retrospective jealousy, nor Darrow to the temptation of belittling her in the effort to better his own case. The girl had been magnificent, and the only worthy return that Anna could make was to take Darrow from her without a question if she took him at all...
She lifted her eyes to his face. “I think I only wanted to speak her name. It’s not right that we should seem so afraid of it. If I were really afraid of it I should have to give you up,” she said.
He bent over her and caught her to him. “Ah, you can’t give me up now!” he exclaimed.