A quick shiver went through her. "Then I must too," she said. "At least—I must try. She—she—I loved her once, you know, before I began to understand."
"Everyone loved her," he said.
"But life is very difficult, isn't it?" she urged rather tremulously.
"Your life has been," he said.
She nodded. "One can't help—can't help—making mistakes—even bad ones—sometimes."
"You've just made one," he said.
She faced him valiantly. "Ah, but you don't understand. You—you can't throw away—what you've never had, can you—can you?"
"What you've got," he corrected gravely. "Yes, you can."
She flung out her hands with a wide gesture. "But I haven't got it! I never had it! He took me out of pity. He never—pretended to love me."
"No," said Larpent, with grim certitude. "He isn't pretending this time."