It seemed to her that it was only now that she really made it out. Her fear had been no test, it threw no light on her, and it had passed. It was only now, with Tanqueray's passionately logical issue facing her, that she knew herself aright.
"There's another thing. I can't be sorry for you. I know I'm hurting you, and I don't seem to care a bit. You can't make me sorry for you. But I'm sorry for Hugh all the time."
"God forbid that you should be sorry for me, then."
"God does forbid it. It's not that Hugh makes me sorry for him; he never lets me know; but I do know. When his little finger aches I know it, and I ache all over—I think it's aching a bit now; that's what makes me want to go back to him."
"I see—Pity," said the psychologist.
"No. Not pity. It's simply that I know he needs me more than you do. That's why I need him more than I need you."
"Pity," he reiterated, with a more insistent stress.
"No."
"Never mind what it is, if it's something that you haven't got for me."
"It is something that I haven't got for you. There isn't time," she said, "to go into all that."