“You knew?”
“It was very simple,” said Ray. “She wouldn’t look at it because it wasn’t worth looking at. I knew that. That was what hurt me, and made me wish to hurt her.”
Kane offered no comment. After a moment he asked: “Has all this just happened? Have you just found it out?”
“Oh, it’s bad enough, but isn’t so bad as that,” said Ray, forcing a laugh. “Still, it’s as bad as I could make it. I happened to go to see her that evening when I overheard her talk with Denton.”
“Oh! And you spoke to her after that?”
There was a provisional condemnation in Kane’s tone which kindled Ray’s temper and gave him strength to retort: “No, Mr. Kane! I spoke to her before that; and it was when I came back—to tell her I was all wrong, and to beg her pardon—that I saw her father, and heard what I’ve told you.”
“Oh, I didn’t understand; I might have known that the other thing was impossible,” said Kane.
They were both silent, and Ray’s anger had died down into the shame that it had flamed up from, when Kane thoughtfully asked, “And you want my advice?”
“Yes.”
“Concretely?”