"He—he blamed me?"
Beatrice was still clinging to her hands.
"No," she answered quickly. "He did not blame you. We never blame those we love, do we?"
"But we hurt those we love!"
"Only when we don't understand. You did not know he loved you like that, did you?"
Marjory withdrew her hands.
"He had no right!" she cried.
Beatrice was silent a moment. There was a great deal here that she herself did not understand. But, though she herself had never loved, there was a great deal she did understand. She spoke as if thinking aloud.
"I have not found love—yet," she said. "But I never thought it was a question of right when people loved. I thought it—it just happened."
Marjory drew a quick breath.