Then she moved away, and Agatha who sat down opposite Sally looked at her quietly.
"Well?" she said.
Sally made a little deprecatory gesture, "I've something to say, but it's hard. To begin with, are you very angry with me?"
"No," said Agatha. "I think I really am a little angry with Gregory, but not altogether because he chose you."
Sally seemed to consider this for a moment or two before she looked up again.
"Well," she said, "not long ago, I wanted to hate you, and I guess I most succeeded. It made things easier. Still, I want to say that I don't hate you now." She hesitated a moment. "I'd like you to forgive me."
Agatha smiled. "In most respects I can do that willingly."
Sally seemed disconcerted by her quiet ease of manner and perfect candour. It was evidently not quite what she had looked for.
"Then you were never very fond of him?" she suggested.
"No," said Agatha reflectively, "since you have compelled me to say it, I don't think now that I ever was really fond of him, though I don't know how I can make that quite clear to you. It was only when I came out here I—realised—Gregory. It was not the actual man I fell in love with in England."