"You've eaten nothing," he said.
Neither had he, she gathered, nor Jane. The trouble she had brought on them was jarring, dislocating, like the shock of bereavement. They had behaved as if in the presence of the beloved dead.
And yet, though he held himself apart, she knew that he had not sent for her to cast her off; that he was yet bound to her by the mysterious, infrangible tie; that he seemed to himself, in some way, her partner and accomplice.
Their silence was a link that bound them, and she broke it.
"Well," she said, "you have something to say to me?"
"Yes"—his hands, spread out on the table between them, trembled—"I have, only it seems so little——"
"Does it? Well, of course, there isn't much to be said."
"Not much. There aren't any words. Only, I don't want you to think that I don't realise what you've done. It was magnificent."
He answered her look of stupefied inquiry.
"Your courage, Kitty, in telling me the truth."