"I want to look at you. No, I don't think I'd better look at you." He spoke in his quick usual way. "Come and sit down. Is that chair all right? And here's a cushion for you, but I don't believe it's clean. Everything looks dirty now that you are in the room. Helen, are you sure it's you?" "Yes. Are you sure you're glad? I want to sit and laugh and laugh, do all the laughing I've never had. And I want to cry--with loud noises. Which shall I do? Oh--I can't do either!" "I've hardly ever seen you in a hat before. You must take it off. No, let me find the pins. Now you're my Helen again. Sit there. Don't move. Don't run away. I'm going to tell Eliza about tea." She heard a murmur in the passage, the jingle of money, the front door opened and shut and she knew the Eliza had been sent out to buy cakes. "I had to get rid of her," Zebedee said. "I had to have you to myself." He knelt before her. "I'm going to take off your gloves. What do you wear them for? So that I can take them off?" He did it slowly. Each hand was like a flower unsheathed, and when he had kissed her fingers and her palms he looked up and saw a face made tragic by sudden knowledge of passion. Her eyes were dark with it and her mouth had shaped itself for his. "Helen--!" "I know--I know--" "And there's nothing to say." "It doesn't matter--doesn't matter--" His head was on her knees and her hands stroked his hair. He heard her whispering: "What soft hair! It's like a baby's." She laughed. "So soft! No, no. Stay there. I want to stroke it." "But I want to see you. I haven't seen you since I kissed you. And you're more beautiful. I love you more--" He rose, and would not see the persuasion of her arms. "Ah, dear, dearest one, forget I love you. You are too young and too beautiful for me, Desire." "But I shall soon be old. You don't want to wait until I'm old." "I don't want to wait at all." "And I'm twenty, Zebedee." "Twenty! Well, Heaven bless you for it," he said and swung the hand she held out to him. "And this is true," she said. "It is." "And I never thought it would be. I was afraid Miriam was loving you." "But," he said, still swinging, "I was never in any danger of loving Miriam." She shook her head. "I couldn't have let her be unhappy." "And me?" She gave him an illuminating smile. "You're just myself. It doesn't matter if one hurts oneself." "Ah!" He bent her fingers and straightened them. "How small they are. I could break them--funny things. So you'd marry me to Miriam if she wanted me. That isn't altogether satisfactory, my dear. To be you--that's perfect, but treat me more kindly than you treat yourself." "Just the same--it must be. Swing my hand again. I like it." She went on in a low voice. "All the time, I've been thinking she would come between." "She can't now." She looked up, troubled, and begged, "Don't say so. Sometimes she's just like a bat, flying into one's face. Only more lovely, and I can't be angry with her."