"You have done me no wrong. We loved each other very much . . . then. At that time . . . I thought I understood you. Now I no longer understand you. You breathe too rarefied an air for me."
"No, it isn't that. But . . ."
"What?"
"Nothing. So, Tilly, you don't want us to be divorced."
She looked at him anxiously:
"No," she entreated.
"Well, dear, then we won't be," he said, gently. "Only . . . our present life . . . is no life at all. So it will be better if . . ."
"If what?"
"If I don't stay with you, if I go away."
"And I?"
"You remain here, in this house, where everything is as you like it. You stay . . . with our children."
"Our . . . our children," she stammered.
"Perhaps later . . ."
"What?"
"Because of our children, we shall come together again . . . when all misunderstanding has disappeared."
"I don't follow you."
"Perhaps you will later. But perhaps also . . . you will become so fond of Erzeele . . . that . . ."
She shook her head, stared before her.
"We never know," said Addie, gently.
"No," she said, pensively. "I know nothing . . . nothing now. I used to think . . . that you knew everything."
"I do sometimes know things . . . for others. I have not known for myself."
