“No,” she said quietly; “all that means nothing.”
He looked at her helplessly, feeling as though he had offered everything he had to offer and had finally lost.
“It’s strange that you don’t understand,” she said, pensively, “for you understand so many things, you have such a big way of looking at life.”
He rose and sat down again abruptly.
“We are beating about the bush, we are coming to nowhere, Inga,” he said desperately. “There’s another man come into your life who means more to you than I do. You want to go to him, isn’t that it?”
“Yes.”
“I gave you my promise to free you, I shall keep it,” he said, though the words were hard to bring forth.
“And you—you understand?” she asked, gently.
“I shall try to understand.” Then despite himself he broke into a laugh, a bitter echo of the mocking laughter of the past. “Understand? No, no, I shall never understand you!”
“Perhaps I can make you,” she began. Then she drew in her under lip, pressing her sharp little teeth against it till the blood surged around them.