She went quickly into the bedroom, and came back in her limp white dress and slippers. She took the heavy India shawl and drew it over her head. Its damp folds completely covered her. Only her face was visible, white, composed, with a curious sinister light in it.
She put her hand out of the folds to Hilary. With that gesture he felt her put him away. He knew he was included in her unforgivingness, he had become a part of something she wanted to banish. She would hate him for knowing....
"Hilary," she said, "I want you to promise me something. Promise never to speak of this—not to any one else, I know you wouldn't—but not to me. Never speak of it to me again."
He dropped her hand, stood looking at her, and slowly his face became as inflexible as her own.
"You shut me out, then?... I count for nothing with you? You reject what you came here for—my help, my ... counsel...."
"No one can help me. You can't understand."
"You came to me, not for help or counsel. You came for sympathy, thinking I would stand with you against your husband. You counted on my feeling for you—you have always counted on it, though you would never admit it to yourself—"
"I don't know why I came.... But it was no use."
"No. Because you won't let it be. You'll go your own way ... repay evil for evil. I can see it in your face. I always knew you had it in you.... Oh, Mary, has it all gone for nothing—all that you said you believed in for so many years? Was it all on the surface—the first time life comes hard to you will you throw it all away?... No, I won't let you, I've cared too much for you—"
"What you say is no use, Hilary. You might as well promise."