"That dreadful thing is what you did. I heard you all night—the night of the thirtieth; you were crying to me. And in the morning I saw you."
"You saw me?"
"I saw you in a little room that I've never seen you in. You were going up and down in it, with your hands held out, like this, in front of you. You were looking for something. And I knew that I had to come."
"And you came," she said, "just for that?"
"I came—just for that."
An hour later he was alone for a moment with Nina. She had come in with her hat and jacket on.
"Do you mind," she said, "if I go out? I've got to go."
There was nothing to be said. He knew the nature of her necessity, and she knew that he knew. She stood confronting him and his knowledge with a face that never flinched. His eyes protested, with that eternal tenderness of his that had been her undoing. She steadied her voice under it.
"I want you to know, Owen, that I sent for you."
"It was like your goodness."