She would have to tell him. That would put him off. That would stop him. If she had loved him she would have had to tell him, as she had told John.
"I'm going to tell you…."
* * * * *
She wondered whether he had really listened. A queer smile played about his mouth. He looked as if he had been thinking of something else all the time.
"What are you smiling at?"
"Your supposing that that would make any difference."
"Doesn't it?"
"Not a bit. Not a little bit…. Besides I knew it."
"Who—who told you?"
"The only other person who knew about it, I suppose—Conway."