She slipped off a fur that she was wearing and came and sat down beside him. She wore what he would have thought of as a kind of waistcoat thing, cut like his own waistcoats but short; and opened above like a waistcoat but turned back in a white rolled edging, revealing all her throat. She had a little closefitting hat banded with flowers and a loose veil depended from it. She put back the veil. Beauty abode in her face as the scent within the rose, Hapgood had said; and, as perfume deeply inhaled, her serene and tender beauty penetrated Sabre's senses, propped up, watching her. He had something to say to her. "How long is it since I have seen you, Nona?" "It's a month since I was here, Marko." "I don't remember it." "You've been very ill; oh, so ill." He said slowly, "Yes, I think I've been down in a pretty deep place." "You're going to be splendid now, Marko." He did not respond to her tone. He said, "I've come on a lot in the last few weeks. I'd an idea you'd been about me before that. I'd an idea you'd be coming again. There's a thing I've been thinking out to tell you." She breathed, "Yes, tell me, Marko." But he did not answer. She said, "Have you been thinking, in these weeks, while you've been coming on, what you are going to do?" His hands, that had been crumpling up the sheet, were now laid flat before him. His eyes, that had been regarding her, were now averted from her, fixed ahead. "There is nothing I can do, in the way you mean." She was silent a little time. "Marko, we've not talked at all about the greatest thing--of course they've told you?--the Armistice, the war won. England, your England that you loved so, at peace, victorious; those dark years done. England her own again. Your dear England, Marko." He said, "It's no more to do with me. Frightful things have happened to me. Frightful things." She stretched a hand to his. He moved his hands away. "Marko, they're done. I would not have spoken of them. But shall I.... Your dear England in those years suffered frightful things. She suffered lies, calumnies, hateful and terrible things--not in one little place but across the world. Those who loved her trusted her and she has come through those dark years; and those who know you have trusted you _always_, and you are coming through those days to show to all. Time, Marko; time heals all things, forgets all things, and proves all things. There's that for you." He shook his head with a quick, decisive motion. She went on. "There's your book--your 'England.' You have that to go to now. And all your plans--do you remember telling me all your plans? Such splendid plans. And first of all your 'England' that you loved writing so." He said, "It can't be. It can't be." She began again to speak. He said, "I don't want to hear those things. They're done. I don't want to be told those things. They have nothing to do with me."