"I heard nothing," she answered. "It's always the family that hears the talk last. Perhaps my husband's right. Perhaps there is nothing to be done. I see now that Falk never cared anything for any of us. I cheated myself. I had to cheat myself, otherwise I don't know what I'd have done. And now his doing this has made me suspicious of everything and of every one. Yes, even of a friendship like ours--the greatest thing in my life-- now--the only thing in my life." Her voice trembled and dropped. But still he would not let himself pass on to that other ground. "Is there _nothing_ I can do?" he asked. "I suppose it would do no good if I were to go up to London and see him? I knew him a little--" Vehemently she shook her head. "You're not to be involved in this. At least I can do that much--keep you out of it." "How is he going to live, then?" "He talks about writing. He's utterly confident, of course. He always has been. Looking back now, I despise myself for ever imagining that _I_ was of any use to him. I see now that he never needed me--never at all." Suddenly she looked across at him sharply. "How is your sister-in-law?" His colour rose. "My sister-in-law?" "Yes." "She isn't well." "What--?" "It's hard to say. The doctor looked at her and said she needed quiet and must go to the sea. It's her nerves." "Her nerves?" "Yes, they got very queer. She's been sleeping badly." "You quarrelled." "She and I?--yes." "What about?" "Oh, I don't know. She's getting a little too much for me, I think." She looked him in the face. "No, you know it isn't that. You quarrelled about me." He said nothing. "You quarrelled about me," she repeated. "She always disliked me from the beginning." "No." "Oh, yes, she did. Of course I saw that. She was jealous of me. She saw, more quickly than any one else, how much--how much we were going to mean to one another. Speak the truth. You know that is the best." "She didn't understand," Morris answered slowly. "She's stupid in some things." "So I've been the cause of your quarrelling, of your losing the only friend you had in your life?" "No, not of my losing it. I haven't lost her. Our relationship has shifted, that's all." "No. No. I know it is so. I've taken away the only person near you." And suddenly turning from him to the back of the sofa, hiding her face in her hands, she broke into passionate crying. He stood for a moment, taut, controlled, as though he was fighting his last little desperate battle. Then he was beaten. He knelt down on the floor beside the sofa. He touched her hair, then her cheek. She made a little movement towards him. He put his arms around her.