Anne flung him another glance.
“Almost,” she said.
“If he could only hear you!”
“Ah,” she said, with a movement of her head, “almost would not have satisfied him or—” She paused.
“Or?”
“Or me.”
There was another silence, silence more significant than speech. When Wareham spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“You have given up, then, that fiction that you are heartless?”
“I do not know,” said Anne quietly. “Was it not you that tried to argue me out of it?”
“You must learn it by something different from argument,” he replied slowly.