it," said Freda. "_Had_ he?"

"Well, if he was honorable, what else was there for him to do?"

"To stay by those women, and see them through--if he was honorable."

"Oh--if they'd have been content with that. But you see, my dear,
they all wanted to marry him."

"If they did," said Freda, "that shows that they didn't really
care."

"They cared too much, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no. Not enough. If they'd cared enough they'd have got beyond
that. However much they wanted it, they'd have given it up, rather
than let him go."

As she said it she felt a blessed sense of relief. The deeper they
went the more the waters covered her.

"You'll never get a man," said Julia, "to understand that. If _he_
cares for a woman he won't be put off with anything short of
marrying her. So he naturally supposes----"

Julia had now gone as deep as she could go.

"Yes," said Freda. "It's in the things he naturally supposes that a
man goes so wrong."

"Is it?" Julia paused again. "I don't know whether you realize it,
but you and I are the only women Mr. Caldecott ever goes to see. I
dare say you were surprised when he told you about me. I was amazed
when he told me about you. I've no doubt he made each of us think we
were the one exception. You see, we are rather exceptional women,
from his unhappy point of view. He knows that I understand him, and
I'm sure he thinks that he understands you----"

"So he feels safe with me?"

"Gloriously safe. _You_ are a genius, above all the little feminine
stupidities that terrify him so. From you he expects nothing but the
unexpected. You're outside all his rules. I'm so much inside them
that he knows exactly what to expect. So he's safe with both of us.
It's the betwixt-and-between people that he dreads."

Julia rose up from the depths rosy and refreshed. Freda panted with
a horrible exhaustion.

"I see," she said. And presently she found that it was time for her
to go.

III

The cool, bright air out of doors touched her like a reminding hand.
She turned awkwardly into the street that led from Bedford Square to
her own place. Wilton Caldecott and she had often walked along that
street together. She felt like one called upon to play a new part on
a familiar stage, where every object suggested insanely,
irrelevantly, the older inspiration.

Not that her conversation with Julia, or, rather (she corrected
herself) Julia's conversation with her, had altered anything. It had
all been so na