“Then what is the difference?”
He waited some seconds, and repeated the question before Rhoda answered.
“You are conscious of no difference?” she said.
“Months have elapsed. We are different because we are older. But you speak as if you were conscious of some greater change.”
“Yes, you are changed noticeably. I thought I knew you; perhaps I did. Now I should have to learn you all over again. It is difficult, you see, for me to keep pace with you. Your opportunities are so much wider.”
This was puzzling. Did it signify mere jealousy, or a profounder view of things? Her voice had something even of pathos, as though she uttered a simple thought, without caustic intention.
“I try not to waste my life,” he answered seriously. “I have made new acquaintances.”
“Will you tell me about them?”
“Tell me first about yourself. You say you would never have written to me. That means, I think, that you never loved me. When you found that I had been wrongly suspected—and you suspected me yourself, say what you will—if you had loved me, you would have asked forgiveness.”
“I have a like reason for doubting your love. If you had loved me you could never have waited so long without trying to remove the obstacle that was between us.”