He looked at her closely.
“Foolish and futile,” he said. “Ashes can never give forth the glow and the heat of unspoilt fuel. A thing that is dead has served its end. It should then be applied to other uses; for it is impossible that it should ever again serve its original purpose.”
“If that is your philosophy,” she began.
“It is,” he interrupted shortly.
“Then with you the ashes remain ashes to despoil the hearth of to-day!”
“I brush them out of sight,” he returned lightly. “I have lived so long now amid the dust of such memories that I have learnt to turn my back upon the muddle till it no longer inconveniences me...” He smiled cynically, and added: “There was room for a retort there. You might have flung out at me that I have always shown a propensity for turning my back.”
She winced. His speech cut her more than he would have believed any words of his could wound her. It was with great difficulty that she kept back the tears.
“That wasn’t worthy of you,” she said.
He reddened suddenly.
“I beg your pardon... It was an ill-considered remark. But it’s one of the memories that sticks closest... The dust of it lies thick upon everything and clouds the rest of life.”