Her self-possession was absolute. She parried his probe with a thrust.
"It is your own fault if my experience isn't complete. You should have told me these things five years ago. As you say, nobody else has instructed me since."
"I dare say they've done their best. Of course, other men have loved you——"
"They haven't——"
"But I believe my love would be worth more to you than theirs, for the simple reason that I understand you too well to insist on it. I should always know how much and how little you wanted. For we are rather alike in some ways. I would leave you free."
"I know you would. I am sure. And I would—I would so gladly—but I can't! You see, Maurice, I have loved you."
"All the more reason——"
"All the less. I knew what you thought and felt about me, and it made no difference; I loved you just the same, because I understood. Then I had to fight it. It was hard work, but I did it very thoroughly. It will never have to be done again. Do you see?"
Yes; he saw very plainly. If Frida could not love him there was nobody but himself to blame. He also saw the advantage she had given him. She had owned that she had loved him, and he had hardly realized the full force of the pluperfect. What had been might be again. She was a woman in whom the primordial passion, once awakened, is eternal.
He pressed his advantage home.