"How can I when I don't know?" He rose. "See here—I oughtn't to look at you—I oughtn't to touch you—I oughtn't to live with you, as long as I don't know. You don't know, either."
"No," she said quietly. "I don't know. Does that matter so very much when I understand?"
"Ah, if you could understand. But you never could."
"I do. Supposing I had known, do you think I should not have forgiven you?"
"I'm certain you wouldn't. You couldn't. Not that."
"But," she said, "I did know."
His mouth twitched. His eyelids dropped before her gaze.
"At least," she said, "I thought—"
"You thought that?"
"Yes."