No answer.
"All?" he repeated.
"Don't ask me. I don't know—I don't know what I think any more."
"How deeply do you suppose I feel about it?"
"I did not know you felt anything very deeply."
There was a long pause, then her voice again:
"You know—you need not be afraid. I did not know enough to be until you wrote. But I understand, now."
He said: "It will be all right, then. It will be quite all right, Jacqueline. I'll come up on the noon train."
His car met him at the station. The snow had melted and the wet macadam road glittered under a declining winter sun, as the car rolled smoothly away through the still valleys of Westchester.