“You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be.
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