"Anna!" He started to follow her, and then checked himself.
"Don't do that!"

"Why not?"

"It's not like you...not generous..."

She stood before him straight and pale, but under her rigid
face he saw the tumult of her doubt and misery.

"I don't want to be ungenerous; I don't want to pry into her
secrets. But things can't be left like this. Wouldn't it be
better for me to go to her? Surely she'll understand--she'll
explain...It may be some mere trifle she's concealing:
something that would horrify the Farlows, but that I
shouldn't see any harm in..." She paused, her eyes
searching his face. "A love affair, I suppose...that's it?
You met her with some man at the theatre--and she was
frightened and begged you to fib about it? Those poor young
things that have to go about among us like machines--oh, if
you knew how I pity them!"

"If you pity her, why not let her go?"

She stared. "Let her go--go for good, you mean? Is that the
best you can say for her?"

"Let things take their course. After all, it's between
herself and Owen."