"But--he wasn't."

"You've told me. He was cruel to you. And he lied and funked."

"It wasn't like him--it wasn't _like_ him to lie and funk. It was my
fault. I made the poor thing jumpy. I let him run such whopping risks.
_The_ horrible thing is thinking what I made him."

"He was a liar and a coward, Charlotte; a swine."

"I tell you he _wasn't_. Oh, why are we so beastly hard on each other?
Everybody's got their breaking-point. I don't lie about the things he
lied about; I don't funk the things he funked. But when my time comes I
daresay I shall funk and lie."

"Charlotte--are you sure you don't care for him?"

"Of course I'm sure. I told you I'd forgotten all about it. _This_ is
what I shall remember all my life. Your being here, my being with you.
It's the _real_ thing."

"You wouldn't want to go back?"

"To him?"

"No. To that sort of thing."

"You mean with--just anybody?"

"I mean with--somebody you cared about. Could you do without it and go