He learned in that instant two things: one being that even in so long a time she had gathered no knowledge of his great intimacy¹ and his great quarrel; the other that in spite of this ignorance, strangely enough, she supplied on the spot a reason for his stupor².  “How extraordinary,” he presently exclaimed, “that we should never have known!”  
She gave a wan³ smile which seemed to Stransom stranger even than the fact itself.  “I never, never spoke⁴ of him.”
 
He looked again about the room.  “Why then, if your life had been so full of him?”
 
“Mayn’t I put you that question as well?  Hadn’t your life also been full of him?”
 
“Any one’s, every one’s life who had the wonderful experience of knowing him.  I never spoke of him,” Stransom added in a moment, “because he did me—years ago—an unforgettable wrong.”  She was silent, and with the full effect of his presence all about them it almost startled her guest to hear no protest escape her.  She accepted his words, he turned his eyes to her again to see in what manner she accepted them.  It was with rising tears and a rare sweetness in the movement of putting out her hand to take his own.  Nothing more wonderful had ever appeared to him than, in that little chamber⁵ of remembrance and homage⁶, to see her convey with such exquisite⁷ mildness that as from Acton Hague any injury was credible⁸.  The clock ticked in the stillness—Hague had probably given it to her—and while he let her hold his hand with a tenderness that was almost an assumption of responsibility for his old pain as well as his new, Stransom after a minute broke out: “Good God, how he must have used you!”
 
She dropped his hand at this, got up and, moving across the room, made straight a small picture to which, on examining it, he had given a slight push.  Then turning round on him with her pale gaiety recovered, “I’ve forgiven him!” she declared.
 
“I know what you’ve done,” said Stransom “I know what you’ve done for years.”  For a moment they looked at each other through it all with their long community of service in their eyes.  This short passage made, to his sense, for the woman before him, an immense, an absolutely naked confession⁹; which was presently, suddenly blushing red and changing her place again, what she appeared to learn he perceived in it.  He got up and “How you must have loved him!” he cried.
 
“Women aren’t like men.  They can love even where they’ve suffered.”
 
“Women are wonderful,” said Stransom.  “But I assure you I’ve forgiven him too.”
 
“If I had known of anything so strange I wouldn’t have brought you here.”
 
“So that we might have gone on in our ignorance to the last?”
 
“What do you call the last?” she asked, smiling still.
 
At this he could smile back at her.  “You’ll see—when it comes.”
 
She thought of that.  “This is better perhaps; but as we were—it was good.”
 
He put her the question.  “Did it never happen that he spoke of me?”
 
Considering more intently she made no answer, and he then knew he should have been adequately answered by her asking how often he himself had spoken of their terrible friend.  Suddenly a brighter light broke in her face and an excited idea sprang to her lips in the appeal: “You have forgiven him?”
 
“How, if I hadn’t, could I linger here?”
 
She visibly winced¹⁰ at the deep but unintended irony¹¹ of this; but even while she did so she panted quickly: “Then in the lights on your altar—?”
 
“There’s never a light for Acton Hague!”
 
She stared with a dreadful fall, “But if he’s one of your Dead?”
 
“He’s one of the world’s, if you like—he’s one of yours.  But he’s not one of mine.  Mine are only the Dead who died possessed¹² of me.  They’re mine in death because they were mine in life.”
 
“He was yours in life then, even if for a while he ceased to be.  If you forgave him you went back to him.  Those whom we’ve once loved—”
 
“Are those who can hurt us most,” Stransom broke in.
 
“Ah it’s not true—you’ve not forgiven him!” she wailed¹³ with a passion that startled him.
 
He looked at her as never yet.  “What was it he did to you?”
 
“Everything!”  Then abruptly¹⁴ she put out her hand in farewell.  “Good-bye.”<............