‘And you like Walter Sebright too; you said you did.’
‘I do,’ he said, ‘I like him too, but not for you.’
I said:
‘That is for me to judge.’
He said:
‘No, not now; you don’t know what you are doing. You are unhappy and angry, and . . . oh Helen, why do we beat about the bush? You and Hugo love each other far too well to marry other people? You know that . . . I know it . . . and Hugo knows it too!’
I said:
‘I don’t think Hugo does.’
‘He does . . . . I know he does. Give him time, Helen. He will never care for anyone as he does for you.’
I said: