“I know what it is,” she said. “You’ve been wondering why I haven’t spoken to you about what you told me the other day. You’ve been thinking that I ought to, haven’t you?” “No, it’s only that I’ve wondered whether perhaps you’ve changed your mind since then. Then you didn’t seem to be angry, but, thinking about it afterwards—” “Why, Phil,” she said, “how could there be anything different? It’s all gone, finished. You don’t suppose that I ever imagined that you’d never loved another woman before you met me. I’m interested, that’s all. You’ve told me so little about her. I’d like to know all sorts of things—even quite little unimportant things—” “It would be much better,” he said slowly, “if we just left it and didn’t talk about it.” “But I thought you wanted me to talk about it?” she cried. “How funny you are!” “No, I didn’t _want_ you to talk about it. It’s only that I didn’t like there being constraint—I don’t see why you should care. It’s like talking about someone who’s dead.” “But she isn’t dead. Do you suppose, Phil—would she, do you think, like you to go back?” “No, I’m sure she wouldn’t—at least I don’t think so.” “Was she the kind of woman who forgets easily, who can put people out of her life just as she wants to?” “Anna ...” His voice lingered over the name. “No, I don’t think she ever forgot. She was simply independent.” “Would she think of your boy and want him back?” “She might.” He suddenly stopped. “She might. That evening he was so ill she—” Katherine looked across the fields to Pelynt Cross, dim and grey beneath the rain. “She had a heart, then,” she said slowly. He suddenly wheeled about with his face to Garth. He spoke sharply and roughly in a voice that she had never heard him use before. “Don’t, Katie—leave her alone. What do you go on about her for?” “But if it’s all dead?” “Oh, drop it, I say! That’s enough.” She knew that she was a fool, but something—or was it somebody?—drove her on. “But you said just now that you wanted me to be frank.” His voice was a cry. “You’ll drive me mad, Katie. You don’t seem to have any conception—” “Very well. I won’t say anything.” They were quite silent after that: the silence swelled, like a rising cloud, between them: it became impossible to break it ... they were at Garth gates, and they had not spoken. She would have said something, but he turned abruptly off into the garden. She walked, with her head up, into the house.