It was hard to refuse Imrie—a million times harder than all the rest
"But I thought ... the last time ..." he was saying. "It seemed as if ... there was more hope. And now ... it seems as if there was less. Why, my dearest? Have you changed? What have I done? What haven't I done? You seem further away from me now than ever ... won't you ever come to me ... is it always to be 'the desire of the moth for the star' ... please speak to me, darling ... please...."
His voice broke under the stress of his emotion. Never had she seen him so moved. She marvelled at it. She had a turbulent wish to ask him why he never lost himself like that in his pulpit—and immediately afterwards wondered where such an outrageous, irreverent thought could have come from. That was not like her. But she knew very well who it was like.
"Is there—someone else?"
The question made her start guiltily. She was glad that her face was in shadow.
"Was there?" she asked herself. Then the absurdity of the thought made her smile to herself.