"Perhaps not," he admitted.
"I'm sure you didn't," she said. "You know me better than that." Again she stood still in the sunshine, lifting her face to the glory. "Love conquers so many things," she said.
"All things," put in Nick quickly.
She looked at him again. "I don't know about all things, Nick," she said.
"I have proved it," he said.
She shook her head slowly. "But I haven't." She passed from the subject as if it were one she could not bear to discuss openly. "What made you think the truth would hurt me so, I wonder? It was only the first great shock I couldn't bear. That nearly killed me. But now that it is over—and I can see clearly again—Nick, tell me,—as her friend—her only friend—could I have done anything else?"
Nick was silent. He had asked himself the same question many times, and had not found an answer.
"Nick," she said pleadingly, "none but a friend could have done it. It was—an act of love."
"I know it was," he said.
"And yet you blame me?" Her voice was low, full of the most earnest entreaty.