“And there was you, too, before that.”
“I know,” he said then; “I can understand that. But—why Bella?”
“Because Bella was the only way.”
She had not followed his thoughts, nor he hers.
“The only way?” he said.
“To work it. To keep the thing pure. I had to be certain of my motive, and I knew that if I could give Bella back to you that would prove—to me, I mean—that it was pure.”
“But Bella,” he said softly—“Bella. Powell I can understand—and me.”
It was clear that he could get over all the rest. But he could not get over Bella. Bella’s case convinced him. Bella’s case could not be explained away—or set aside. Before Bella’s case he was baffled, utterly defeated. He faced it with a certain awe.
“You were right, after all, about Bella,” he said at last. “And so was I. She didn’t care for me, as I told you. But she does care now.”
She knew it.