EILEEN. Yes--for good. (_She looks up at his averted face. He remains silent. She continues apprehensively._) You don't say anything. I thought--you'd be glad. You've always told me it was the honourable thing to do. MURRAY (_gruffly_). I know. I say more than my prayers, damn it! (_With sudden eagerness._) Have you mailed the letter yet? EILEEN. Yes. Why? MURRAY (_shortly_). Humph. Oh--nothing. EILEEN (_with pained disappointment_). Oh, Stephen, you don't think I did wrong, do you--now--after all you've said? MURRAY (_hurriedly_). Wrong? No, not if you were convinced it was the right thing to do yourself--if you know you don't love him. But I'd hate to think you did it just on my advice. I shouldn't---- I didn't mean to interfere. I don't know enough about your relations for my opinion to count. EILEEN (_hurt_). You know all there is to know. MURRAY. I didn't mean--anything like that. I know you've been frank. But him--I don't know him. How could I, just meeting him once? He may be quite different from my idea. That's what I'm getting at. I don't want to be unfair to him. EILEEN (_bitterly scornful_). You needn't worry. You weren't unfair. And you needn't be afraid you were responsible for my writing. I'd been going to for a long time before you ever spoke. MURRAY (_with a relieved sigh_). I'm glad of that--honestly, Eileen. I felt guilty. I shouldn't have knocked him behind his back without knowing him at all. EILEEN. You said you could read him like a book from his letters I showed you. MURRAY (_apologetically_). I know. I'm a fool. EILEEN (_angrily_). What makes you so considerate of Fred Nicholls all of a sudden? What you thought about him was right. MURRAY (_vaguely_). I don't know. One makes mistakes. EILEEN (_assertively_). Well, I know! You needn't waste pity on him. He'll be only too glad to get my letter. He's been anxious to be free of me ever since I was sent here, only he thought it wouldn't be decent to break it off himself while I was sick. He was afraid of what people would say about him when they found it out. So he's just gradually stopped writing and coming for visits, and waited for me to realise. And if I didn't, I know he'd have broken it off himself the first day I got home. I've kept persuading myself that, in spite of the way he's acted, he did love me as much as he could love anyone, and that it would hurt him if I---- But now I know that he never loved me, that he couldn't love anyone but himself. Oh, I don't hate him for it. He can't help being what he is. And all people seem to be--like that, mostly. I'm only going to remember that he and I grew up together, and that he was kind to me then when he thought he liked me--and forget all the rest. (_With agitated impatience._) Oh, Stephen, you know all this I've said about him. Why don't you admit it? You've read his letters. MURRAY (_haltingly_). Yes, I'll admit that was my opinion--only I wanted to be sure you'd found out for yourself.