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She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. I love you. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Byby. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. "I release you from your promise.
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