"If," said Agatha, "you could only tell me what it was."
"I can't tell you. I don't know what came to you. I only know that if I'd had a gift like that, I would not have given it up for anything. I wouldn't have let anything come between. I'd have kept myself ..."
"I did keep myself—for it. I couldn't keep myself entirely for Harding; there were other things, other people. I couldn't give them up for Harding or for anybody."
"Are you quite sure you kept yourself what you were, Aggy?"
"What was I?"
"My dear—you were absolutely pure. You said that was the condition."
"Yes. And, don't you see, who is—absolutely? If you thought I was you didn't know me."
As she spoke she heard the sharp click of the latch as the garden gate fell to; she had her back to the window so that she saw nothing, but she heard footsteps that she knew, resolute and energetic footsteps that hurried to their end. She felt the red blood surge into her face, and saw that Milly's face was white with another passion, and that Milly's eyes were fixed on the figure of the man who came up the garden path. And without looking at her Milly answered.
"I don't know now; but I think I see, my dear ..." In Milly's pause the door-bell rang violently. Milly rose and let her have it—"what was the flaw in the crystal."
