"Mary, do you know you're growing younger every minute?"
"I shall go on growing younger and younger till it's all over."
"Till what's all over?"
"This. So will you, Richard."
"Not in the same way. My hair isn't young any more. My face isn't young
any more."
"I don't want it to be young. It wasn't half so nice a face when it was
young.... Some other woman loved it when it was young."
"Yes. Another woman loved it when it was young."
"Is she alive and going about?"
"Oh, yes; she's alive and she goes about a lot."
"Does she love you now?"
"I suppose she does."
"I wish she didn't."
"You needn't mind her, Mary. She was never anything to me. She never will
be."
"But I do mind her. I mind her awfully. I can't bear to think of her
going about and loving you. She's no business to.... Why do I mind her
loving you more than I'd mind your loving her?"
"Because you like loving more than being loved."
"How do you know?"
"I know every time I hold you in my arms."
There have been other women then, or he wouldn't know the difference.
There must have been a woman that he loved.