His eyes rested on her, their terrible lucidity softened by some veil. "Do you like him, Jinny?" he said.
"Do I like him? Yes."
"Why do you like him?"
"I think, perhaps, because he's good."
"That's how he has you, is it?"
He paused.
"Brodrick doesn't know you, Jinny, as I know you."
"That's it," she said. "I wonder if you do."
"I think I do. Better, perhaps, in some ways, than you know yourself."
He was silent for a little time. The sound of his slow feet on the gravel measured the moments of his thought.