"No," she said firmly. "There is no one else."
"Then perhaps...?" His voice trailed off.
"Yes," she said mechanically, as one who answered a question without hearing it, "perhaps."
They were silent, then, for a long time. Finally Imrie held out his hand. His face, clear in the moonlight, was drawn and seemed pallid. He was visibly affected.
"I'm sorry, Judith," he said, with a perceptible tremor in his voice, "but I can't help it. Sometime—perhaps...."
"Yes." Her eyes filled with tears again, and she dared not trust herself to speak. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and comfort him. But she would do it as she would comfort Roger—and he would know that. So she held out her hand.
"I'm sorry, too, Arnold. But let us be the good friends we have always been, anyway."
She regretted that, as she saw him wince. It was not friendship that he wanted. But she forced herself to finish in that key. It was safest.
"I hope the plans for the new church are getting on famously?"
"Yes," he said apathetically. "It's doing very well."