"No, no," she cried. "How could you think that? It was another thing. Something that I'm trying to do."
"You told her," he insisted. "What did you tell her?"
"That I'm doing it. That I'm here for my health. She understands it that way."
He smiled as if he were satisfied, knowing her so well. And still his thought, his terrible naked thought, was there. It was looking at her straight out of his eyes.
"Are you sure she understands?" he said.
"Yes. Absolutely."
He hesitated, and then put it differently.
"Are you sure she doesn't understand? That she hasn't an inkling?"
He wasn't sure whether Agatha understood, whether she realised the danger.
"About you and me," he said.