"What do you think?"
"Oh, stop asking questions. It was the only thing to do. You were poor and I was poor, and there wasn't anything ahead of me—or of you—surely you can't blame me."
"How can I blame you for what was, after all, my great good fortune?"
"Your what?"
She said it again, quietly, "My great good fortune, Jimmie. I couldn't see it then. Indeed, I was very unhappy and sentimental and cynical over it. But now I know what life can hold for me—and what it would not have held if I had married you."
"Anne, who has been making love to you?"
"Jimmie!"
"Oh, no woman ever talks like that until she has found somebody else. And I thought you were constant."
"Constant to what?"
"To the thought—to—to the thought of what we might be to each other some day."