III
On the little beach by the Point, Hester scuffed¹ the sand with the point ofher shoe.
“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” she said.
“You’ve got to talk about it,” said Don Craig.
“I don’t see why … Talking about a thing never does any good—it nevermakes it any better.”
“You might at least tell me what happened this morning.”
“Nothing,” said Hester.
“What do you mean—nothing? The police came along, didn’t they?”
“Oh, yes, they came along.”
“Well, then, did they question you all?”
“Yes,” said Hester, “they questioned us.”
“What sort of questions?”
“All the usual ones,” said Hester. “Really just the same as before. Wherewe were and what we did, and when we last saw Mother alive. Really,Don, I don’t want to talk about it any more. It’s over now.”
“But it isn’t over, dearest. That’s just the point.”
“I don’t see why you need to fuss,” said Hester. “You’re not mixed up inthis.”
“Darling, I want to help you. Don’t you understand?”
“Well, talking about it doesn’t help me. I just want to forget. If you’dhelp me to forget, that would be different.”
“Hester, dearest, it’s no good running away from things. You must facethem.”
“I’ve been facing them, as you call it, all the morning.”
“Hester, I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Hester.
“What do you mean, you suppose so?”
“Going on and on about it all.”
“But I have to do that.”
“I don’t see why. You’re not a policeman.”
“Who was the last person to see your mother alive?”
“I was,” said Hester.
“I know. That was just before seven, wasn’t it, just before you came outto meet me.”
“Just before I came out to go to Drymouth — to the Playhouse,” saidHester.
“Well, I was at the Playhouse, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, of course you were.”
“You did know then, didn’t you, Hester, that I loved you?”
“I wasn’t sure,” said Hester. “I wasn’t even sure then that I was begin-ning to love you.”
“You’d no reason, had you, no earthly reason for doing away with yourmother?”
“No, not really,” said Hester.
“What do you mean by not really?”

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