"Fear?"
"Yes, it's the worst thing. Don't you remember, I told you not to be afraid?"
"But Agatha, you were not afraid."
"I was—afterwards. I got frightened."
"You? And you told me not to be afraid," said Milly.
"I had to tell you."
"And I wasn't afraid—afterwards. I believed in you. He believed in you."
"You shouldn't have. You shouldn't. That was just it."
"That was it? I suppose you'll say next it was I who frightened you?"
As they faced each other there, Agatha, with the terrible, the almost supernatural lucidity she had, saw what was making Milly say that. Milly had been frightened; she felt that she had probably communicated her fright; she knew that that was dangerous, and she knew that if it had done harm to Harding, she and not Agatha would be responsible. And because she couldn't face her responsibility, she was trying to fasten upon Agatha some other fault than fear.