"No."
"Doesn't that show you the story's all trumped up?"
Indiana shook her head. "He said nothing to you about it because he was
with you when you received the first cable, and you told him it was from
your sister-in-law, just worrying you as usual to go home; and when he
asked if there was anything else in it you said there wasn't another
thing."
Undine, intently following her, caught at this with a spring. "Then he
knew it all along--he admits that? And it made no earthly difference to
him at the time?" She turned almost victoriously on her friend. "Did he
happen to explain THAT, I wonder?"
"Yes." Indiana's longanimity grew almost solemn. "It came over him
gradually, he said. One day when he wasn't feeling very well he thought
to himself: 'Would she act like that to ME if I was dying?' And after
that he never felt the same to you." Indiana lowered her empurpled
lids. "Men have their feelings too--even when they're carried away by
passion." After a pause she added: "I don't know as I can blame him.
Undine. You see, you were his ideal."