"We have so few minutes together," he said. "And I have thought of so many things I must say to you. I cannot stop thinking about you. I think of you even when I am obliged to think of something else at the same time. I am in a sort of tumult every moment I am away from you." He stopped suddenly and looked up. "I am speaking as if I had been with you a score of times. I haven't, you know. I have only seen you once since the dance. But it is as if we had met every day--and it's true--I am in a sort of tumult. I think thousands of new things and I feel as if I _must_ tell you of them all." "I--think too," said Robin. Oh! the dark dew of her imploring eyes! Oh! the beat of the little pulse he could actually see in her soft bare throat. He did not even ask himself what the eyes implored for. They had always looked like that--as if they were asking to be allowed to be happy and to love all kind things on earth. "One of the new things I cannot help thinking about--it's a queer thing and I must tell you about it. It's not like me and yet it's the strongest feeling I ever had. Since the War has changed everything and everybody, all one's feelings have grown stronger. I never was furious before--and I've been furious. I've felt savage. I've raged. And the thing I'm thinking of is like a kind of obsession. It's this--" he caught her hands again and held her face to face with him. "I--I want to have you to myself," he exclaimed. She did not try to move. She only gazed at him. "Nobody else _has_ me--at all," she answered. "No one wants me." The colour ran up under his fine skin. "What I mean is a little different. Perhaps you mayn't understand it. I want this--our being together in this way--our understanding and talking--to be something that belongs to _us_ and to no one else. It's too sudden and wonderful for any one but ourselves to understand. Nobody else _could_ understand it. Perhaps we don't ourselves--quite! But I know what it does to _me_. I can't bear the thought of other people spoiling the beauty of it by talking it over and looking on." He actually got up and began to walk about. "Oh, I _ought_ to have something of my own--before it's all over--I ought! I want this miracle of a thing--for my own." He stopped and stood before her. "My mother is the most beloved creature in the world. I have always told her everything. She has always cared. I don't know why I have not told her about--this--but I haven't and I don't want to--now. That is part of the strange thing. I do not want to tell her--even the belovedest woman that ever lived. I want it for myself. Will you let me have it--will you help me to keep it?" "Like a secret?" said Robin in her soft note. "No, not a secret. A sort of sacred, heavenly unbelievable thing we own together." "I understand," was Robin's answer. "It does not seem strange to me. I have thought something like that too--almost exactly like."