"I'm sure I don't know," he laughed a little. "So you like her?" he
questioned.

"I think I do; against my judgment, against my will, as it were. But that
doesn't imply that one approves of her."

"Why not?"

"Why, Jack, you know the way _you_ felt about it, the day you and I and
Rose talked it over."

"But we hadn't seen her then. What I want to know is just what _you_ feel,
now that you have seen her."

Mary had another conscientious pause. "How can one approve of her while
Imogen is there?" she said at last.

"You mean that Imogen makes one remember everything?"

"Yes. And Imogen is everything she isn't."

"So that, by contrast, she loses."

"Yes, and do you know, Jack," Mary lowered her voice while she glanced up
at Mrs. Upton's portrait, "I can hardly believe that she has suffered,
really suffered, about him, at all. She is so unlike a widow."

"I suppose she felt herself a widow long ago."