This need took possession of me—to save me, as it appeared, from my fate. When once it had done so I saw—in the urgency of the case, the diminishing hours and shrinking interval—only one issue, that of absolute promptness and frankness. I could at least not do him the wrong of delaying another day, I could at least treat my difficulty as too fine for a subterfuge. Therefore very quietly, but none the less abruptly and hideously, I put it before him on a certain evening that we must reconsider our situation and recognise that it had completely altered.
He stared bravely. "How has it altered?"
"Another person has come between us."
He hesitated a moment. "I won't pretend not to know whom you mean." He smiled in pity for my aberration, but he meant to be kind. "A woman dead and buried!"
"She's buried, but she's not dead. She's dead for the world—she's dead for me. But she's not dead for you."
"You hark back to the different construction we put on her appearance that evening?"
"No," I answered, "I hark back to nothing. I've no need of it. I've more than enough with what's before me."
