‘Ah, yes.’ She turned to unlock the door, and fumbling for the key, lightly remarked: ‘There’s a person I shall never see again.’
‘Who?’
He affected surprise; but he was only pretending. She could feel him saying to himself: ‘So that’s it.’ And suddenly she hated herself for exposing herself, and him for guessing and dissembling, for forcing her to pronounce that name; and she added:
‘I can’t marry you, Martin, after all.’
Silence.
‘Well, I’ve told you the truth at last. I thought I could pretend to you all my life, but I can’t. You ought to be glad.’
‘Aren’t you going to say something, Martin?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Please forgive me,’ she said; but she could not feel contrition: only a great weariness.