"Maisie—I don't know why I've come. There were things I wanted to say to you, but I can't say them."
"You want to say you're sorry you took Jerrold from me."
"I'm bitterly sorry."
She came forward with a slender, awkward grace. Her eyes were fixed on
Maisie, thrown open, expecting pain; but she didn't shrink or cower.
Maisie's voice came with its old sweetness.
"You didn't take him from me. You couldn't take what I haven't got."
"I gave him up, Maisie. I couldn't bear it."
"And I've given him up. I couldn't bear it, either. But," she said, "it was harder for you. You had him. I'm only giving up what I've never really had. Don't be too unhappy about it."
"I shall always be unhappy when I think of you. You've been such an angel to me. If we could only have told you."
"Yes. If only you'd told me. That was where you went wrong, Anne."