‘Was that when you parted?’
‘No! Oh, no! It was in those first few days when he was here on leave.’
Montalto seemed relieved, and his face softened; he was still looking at her, but he did not speak.
‘Can you forgive me that?’ she asked.
‘You meant no harm,’ he said. ‘You were not thinking of doing any wrong, you were only dreaming of an impossible good. There is nothing to forgive.’
‘Ah, how good you are to me! How very, very good!’
‘It is only justice, and I love you. How can I be unjust to you when I see how hard you are trying to do right?’
‘You are one of the best men that ever lived,’ said Maria, and for a few seconds she covered her face with her hands. ‘Only tell me,’ she continued presently, looking up, ‘you know all my story now—have I hurt you very much?’
‘A little, my dear, but it is over already. Think of what I should have felt if you had not told me these things, and if some enemy, who knew, had told them as an enemy might!’
He, who was often so dull, seemed to have divined her inmost intention. She rose from her seat.