"And you really had stopped--caring anything about me?"
"It wasn't that so much as--so much as that I couldn't get over my
resentment." She seemed to have found the explanatory word. "That was
it," she continued, with more decision. "That's what I felt:
resentment--a terrible resentment. Whatever compromise I thought of,
that resentment against you for--for doing what you did--blocked the
way. If I'd gone back I should have taken it with me."
"But you don't seem to suffer from it now. Or am I wrong?"
She answered promptly: "No; you're right. That's the strange part of it.
After I married--it left me. It was as if old scores were wiped out.
That isn't precisely what I felt," she hastened to add; "and yet, it was
something _like_ that."
"You'd got even."
She shook her head doubtfully. "N-no. I don't mean that. But the past
seemed to be dissolved--not to exist for me any more."
"H'm! Not to exist for you any more!"
"I said _seemed_. That's what bewildered me--from the beginning: things
I thought I felt--or thought I didn't feel--for a while--only to find
later that it wasn't--wasn't _so_." She went on with difficulty. "For
instance--that day--that day at the Park--I thought that everything was
killed within me. But it wasn't. It came alive again."
"But not so much alive that you wanted to come back to me."
"Alive--in a different way."
"What sort of different way?"