Not for herself had the tears come, the mouth quivered. The flash of passionate emotion in him had kindled in her only a response as blameless as it was deep. Sorrow for him, for his passion recognised but only vaguely understood, grief for a comradeship forever ended now--regret for the days that now could come no more--but no thought of self as yet, nothing of resentment, of the lesser pity, the baser pride. If she had trembled it was for their hopeless future; if she had wept it was because she saw his boyhood passing out of her life like a ghost, leaving her still at heart a girl, alone beside the ashes of their friendship. As for marriage she knew it would never be--that neither he nor she dared subscribe to it, dared face its penalties and its punishments; that her fear of his unknown world was as spontaneous and abiding as his was logical and instinctive. There was nothing to do about it. She knew that instantly; knew it from the first;--no balm for him, no outlook, no hope. For her--had she thought about herself,--she could have entertained none. She turned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him out of pitiful, curious eyes. "Clive, must this be?" "I love you, Athalie." Her gaze remained fixed on him as though she were trying to comprehend him,--sad, candid, searching in his eyes for an understanding denied her. "Yes," she said vaguely, "my thoughts are full of you, too. They have always been since I first saw you. I suppose it has been love. I didn't know it." "Is it love, Athalie?" "I--think so, Clive. What else could it be--when a girl is always thinking about a man, always happy with her memories of him.... It _is_ love, I suppose ... only I never thought of it that way." "Can you think of it that way now?" "I haven't changed, Clive. If it was love in the beginning, it is now." "In the beginning it was only a boy and girl affair." "It was all my heart had room for." "And now?" "You fill my heart and mind as always. But you know that." "I thought--perhaps--not seeing you--" "Clive!" "--Other men--other interests--" he muttered obstinately, and so like a stubborn boy that, for a moment, a pale flash from the past seemed to light them both, and she found herself smiling: "A girl must go on living until she is dead, Clive. Even if you went away I'd continue to exist until something ended me. Other men are merely other men. You are you." "You darling!" But she turned shy instantly, conscious now of his embrace, confused by it and the whispered endearment. "Please let me go, Clive." "But I love you, dear--" "Yes--but please--" Again he released her and she stepped back, retreating before him, until the lounge offered itself as refuge. But it was no refuge; she found herself, presently, drawn close to his shoulder; her flushed cheek rested there once more, and her lowered eyes were fixed on his strong, firm hand which had imprisoned both of hers. "If you can stand it I can," he said in a low voice.