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‘But I had to think of my son. I misjudged you and Hester. I thought he was betrayed.’

Ingpen went on dumping down the papers and for a moment made no reply. ‘I saw what you must think,’ he said then. ‘No; — you didn’t misjudge me—though in the present instance your judgment went astray. What you thought me capable of is exactly what I am capable of;—had you not been involved; and had I still wanted Hester.’ He sat down on the chair beside the table and his hands still moved among the papers. ‘That’s quite all right,’ he said. ‘But I don’t understand;—how this is possible, I mean — how you can be to me like this. I saw you knew everything, yesterday;—no, the day before was it? I told Hester you knew everything. And that everything was over.’

She had opened her eyes while he spoke; he was not looking at her; his head was on his hand and he rubbed his hand over his brow and across his eyes, repeating: ‘I can’t quite understand.’

‘It’s because of Hester, I think.” Monica had not known till now that but for Hester it would not have been possible. ‘I had a long talk with Hester this afternoon. She found me when I was very desperate. I thought I had killed my son’s love for me. And she was extraordinarily kind.