"You say you didn't know whom they were talking about?"
"Not at first—not till you came in. Then I knew."
"I see. That was the first time you had heard of it?"
Her lips parted in assent, but her voice died under the torture.
"Then," he said, "I am profoundly sorry. If I had realised that, I would not have spoken to you as I did."
The memory of it stung her.
"That," she said, "was—in any circumstances—unpardonable."
"I know it was. And I repeat, I am profoundly sorry. But, you see, I thought you knew all the time, and that you had consented to forget it. And I thought, don't you know, it was—well, rather hard on me to have it all raked up again like that. Now I see how very hard it was on you, dear. Your not knowing makes all the difference."
"It does indeed. If I had known——"
"I understand. You wouldn't have married me?"