“You haven't asked me about him,” she said unexpectedly.
“I thought you would not care to talk about him. That's over and done, Lily. I want to forget about it, myself.”
She looked up at him, and had he had Louis Akers' intuitive knowledge of women he would have understood then.
“I am never going back to him, Willy. You know that, don't you?”
“I hoped it, of course.”
“I know now that I never loved him.”
But the hurt of her marriage was still too fresh in him for speech. He could not discuss Louis Akers with her.
“No,” he said, after a moment, “I don't think you ever did. I'll come in some evening, if I may, Lily. I must not keep you up now.”
How old he looked, for him! How far removed from those busy, cheerful days at the camp! And there were new lines of repression in his face; from the nostrils to the corners of his mouth. Above his ears his hair showed a faint cast of gray.
“You have been having rather a hard time, Willy, haven't you'?” she said, suddenly.