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I was so brave. I wasn’t. A fire seemed to be burning my heart out.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Ann said:

“You want to know all that has ever passed between us—Mr. Waring and me. It isn’t much. He began a sort of flirtation—you could hardly even call it that—soon after my arrival. I never imagined he was in earnest. I don’t think he was at that time. Then one night—the night of the dance at Omoana, I let him kiss me. I was feeling angry and reckless. I’d just realized that I . . . I cared for some one else, and that he was quite indifferent to me.”

“For Dick?” Vera gave a half-hysterical laugh. “That would be the most ironic touch of all.”

“So you admit that you’ve never believed you had any grounds for your action?” said Ann swiftly.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your tone then told me so quite clearly.”

“Never mind the divorce.” Vera dismissed that as though it were of no importance. “I don’t care who you fancy you love. It might be a good thing if it were Dick. Tell me about—Gerald.”

“There’s nothing else to tell. He never kissed me again. I’ve seen him alone on three occasions since then—once that afternoon when he came into the kitchen at Tirau, once when he came back from Australia and asked me to morning tea with him at the Imperial, and once at the Fords’ house, about a fortnight ago.”

“And each time he asked you to be his wife?”

“Yes,” answered Ann, “and I refused.”

“You’ve told me everything?”

“Everything.”