Monte squared his shoulders.
"See here, little woman; you must n't feel this way. It won't do at all. That's why I thought if you could only separate these last few weeks from everything else—just put them one side and go from there—it would be so much better. You see, we've got to go on and—holy smoke! this has got to be as if it never happened. You have your life ahead of you and I have mine. We can't let this spoil all the years ahead. You—why, you—"
She looked up. It was a wonder he did not take her in his arms in that moment. He held himself as he had once held himself when eleven men were trying to push him and his fellows over the last three yards separating them from a goal.
"It's necessary to go on, is n't it?" he repeated helplessly.
"Yes, yes," she answered quickly. "You must go back to your schedule just as soon as ever you can. As soon as we're over the ugly part—"
"The divorce?"
"As soon as we're over that, everything will be all right again," she nodded.
"Surely," he agreed.
"But we must n't remember anything. That's quite impossible. The thing to do is to forget."
She appeared so earnest that he hastened to reassure her.