She did not answer for a moment, looking beyond him with a lost glance which he had noticed once or twice before. Then she answered slowly.
“But that—that makes me happy—to give.”
“Inga, do I remind you of any one?” he said, with a suddenness that startled her.
“Why do you say that?” she said, drawing away and frowning.
“I feel it. Just now, as you were looking, and many times when we were arranging the room I had the feeling—a strange feeling—almost as though there were some one else here with us—that all this—well, how shall I say—that you had been here before——”
“Why do you say that?” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I haven’t asked any questions, have I?”
“You can—and besides, you won’t need to, soon,” he said, his curiosity aroused by the answer her evasion implied.
“No, no,” she said emphatically; “what has happened has nothing to do with it. We are what we are to each other. All the rest—what’s happened before—we want to be free of that. What right has that to come into your life again? That’s what’s rare in a friendship, to begin all fresh—isn’t it?”
“You are queer!” he said, gazing at her profoundly, with a growing personal curiosity awakened by the intensity which she had put into this unusually long speech.