"He gives you what I can't give," she said.
"You give me what no one else could give—the best things in life."
"Better than the—other things?" she asked, and he answered, unhesitating, "Yes."
There was another silence, and this time he broke it.
"Why did you not tell me you had known Forbes, Felipa?" If it had not been that she was commonly and often unaccountably reticent, there might have been some suspicion in the question. But there was only a slight annoyance. Nor was there hesitation in her reply.
"It brought back too much that was unpleasant for me. I did not want to talk about it. He saw that I did not, too, and I can't understand why he should have spoken of it. I should have told you after he had gone." She was not disconcerted in the slightest, only a little vindictive toward Forbes, and he thought it would hardly be worth his while to point out the curious position her silence put him in.
He gathered his courage for what he was going to say next, with a feeling almost of guilt. "Forbes says that I am doing you an injustice, keeping you here; that it is no life for you."
"It is the only one I can live," she said indifferently enough, stating it as an accepted, incontrovertible fact, "and it's the one you like best."
He had told her that many times. It had been true; perhaps it was true still.
"He does not understand," she continued; "he was always a society man, forever at receptions and dances and teas. He doesn't see how we can make up to each other for all the world."