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 "What he felt for her and what he felt for me."

"But did he?"

"He has made it clearer. But still even now. No, I don't understand."

She turned slowly and watched Melville's face as she spoke: "You know, Mr. Melville, that this has been an enormous shock to me. I suppose I never really knew him. I suppose I—idealised him. I thought he cared for—our work at any rate. He did care for our work. He believed in it. Surely he believed in it."

"He does," said Melville.

"And then— But how can he?"

"He is—he is a man with rather a strong imagination."

"Or a weak will?"

"Relatively—yes."

"It is so strange," she sighed. "It is so inconsistent. It is like a child catching