"Nothing, my dear, that I hadn't seen for myself."

"Did he tell you that I 'misunderstood' him?"

"Did he pose as _l'homme incompris_? No, he didn't."

"Still--he told you," Anne insisted.

"Of course he did." She brushed the self-evident aside and returned to
her point. "He does care for you. That, at least, you can understand."

"No, that's just what I don't understand. I can't understand his caring.
I can't understand him. I can't understand anything." Her voice shook.

"Poor darling, I know it's hard, sometimes. Still, you do know what he
is."

"I know what he was--what I thought him. It's hard to reconcile it with
what he is."

"With what you think him? You can't, of course. I suppose you think him
something too bad for words?"

Anne broke down weakly.

"Oh, Edith, why didn't you tell me?"

"What? That Wallie was bad?"

"Yes, yes. It would have been better if you'd told me everything."