“Three times,” she said, looking up.
Melville hesitated to ask the extent of that correspondence, but she left no need for that.
“I had to ask him,” she said. “He kept it all from me, and I had to force it from him before he would tell.”
“Tell!” said Melville, “what?”
“What he felt for her and what he felt for me.”
“But did he——?”
“He has made it clearer. But still even now. No, I don’t understand.”
She turned slowly and watched Melville’s face as she spoke: “You know, Mr. Melville, that this has been an enormous shock to me. I suppose I never really knew him. I suppose I—idealised him. I thought he cared for—our work at any rate.… He did care for our work. He believed in it. Surely he believed in it.”
“He does,” said Melville.
“And then— But how can he?”