“You know how I honoured your father and mother,” he said. “They were all the parents I ever knew. Well, you know all about that.... And then I had to break the news to you.... Good God!” He drew his hands down his face. “Poor old Toto!” Katya said slowly again. “I remember.” “And you won’t make any amends?” he asked. “I’ll give you myself,” she said softly. He answered: “No! no!” and then, wearily, “It’s no good.” “Well, I did speak like a beast to you,” she said. “But think what a shock it was to me--mother not dead a month, and father not four days, and so suddenly--all that. I’ll tell you how I felt. I felt a loathing for all men. I felt a recoiling from you--a recoiling, a shudder.” “Oh, I know,” he said, and suddenly he began to plead: “Haven’t you injured me enough? Haven’t I suffered enough? And why?--why? For a mad whim. Isn’t it a mad whim? Or what? I can understand you felt a recoil. But ...” “Oh, I don’t feel it now,” she said; “you know.” “Ah yes,” he answered; “but I didn’t know till to-day, till just now when you raised your arms. And all these years you haven’t let me know.” “How did you know?” she asked. “How did you know that I felt it? But, of course, you understand me even when I don’t speak.” “It’s heaven,” he said, “to know that you’ve grown out of it. It has been hell to bear the thought....” “Oh, my dear! ...” she said. “Such loneliness,” he said. “Do you know,” he continued suddenly, “I came back from Athens? I’m supposed to be a strong-minded man--I suppose I am a strong-minded man--but I turned back the moment I reached Greece because I couldn’t bear--I could not bear the thought that you might still shudder at my touch. Now I know you don’t, and ...”