“I suppose,” she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders, “that I was remembering.”
“If you remember fairly—”
She interrupted him. “What woman does? Don’t let us talk of what is over. Forget, forget, forget—that is the real lesson of life, and one which you, at any rate, learn easily.”
He had crown irritable again.
“It depends upon what you choose to call forgetting,” he said sharply. “Forgetting is like everything else, each person looks at it from his own standpoint.”
“And makes it a horrid nuisance for others. Come, wasn’t that in your mind?” She laughed again.
“You credit—discredit—me with thoughts I don’t own to,” he retorted. “Why am I to be held responsible for the past? If we felt we had made a mistake, was it only I who found it out?”
“On the contrary, it was I.”
“Then why blame me?”
“Because I am a woman, I suppose,” she said, and a close listener might have detected that her voice trembled. “But I can assure you, I never really blame you. As you say, it was I, and—I was wise.”