I remembered that I was a woman, and disengaged myself and withdrew from him. I hated to do it; but I did it. We became self-conscious. The brilliant and empty drawing-room scanned us unfavourably with all its globes and mirrors. How difficult it is to be natural in a great crisis! Our spirits clamoured for expression, beating vainly against a thousand barred doors of speech. There was so much to say, to explain, to define, and everything was so confused and dizzily revolving, that we knew not which door to open first. And then I think we both felt, but I more than he, that explanations and statements were futile, that even if all the doors were thrown open together, they would be inadequate. The deliciousness of silence, of wonder, of timidity, of things guessed at and hidden.... 'It makes me afraid,' he murmured at length. 'What?' 'To be loved like that.... Your kiss ... you don't know.' I smiled almost sadly. As if I did not know what my kiss had done! As if I did not know that my kiss had created between us the happiness which brings ruin! 'You _do_ love me?' he demanded. I nodded, and sat down. 'Say it, say it!' he pleaded. 'More than I can ever show you,' I said proudly. 'Honestly,' he said, 'I can't imagine what you have been able to see in me. I'm nothing--I'm nobody--' 'Foolish boy!' I exclaimed. 'You are you.' The profound significance of that age-worn phrase struck me for the first time. He rushed to me at the word 'boy,' and, standing over me, took my hand in his hot hand. I let it lie, inert. 'But you haven't always loved me. I have always loved _you_, from the moment when I drove with you, that first day, from the office to your hotel. But you haven't always loved me.' 'No,' I admitted. 'Then when did you--? Tell me.' 'I was dull at first--I could not see. But when you told me that the end of _Fate and Friendship_ was not as good as I could make it--do you remember, that afternoon in the office?--and how reluctant you were to tell me, how afraid you were to tell me?--your throat went dry, and you stroked your forehead as you always do when you are nervous--There! you are doing it now, foolish boy!' I seized his left arm, and gently pulled it down from his face. Oh, exquisite moment! 'It was brave of you to tell me--very brave! I loved you for telling me. You were quite wrong about the end of that book. You didn't see the fine point of it, and you never would have seen it--and I liked you, somehow, for not seeing it, because it was so feminine--but I altered the book to please you, and when I had altered it, against my conscience, I loved you more.' 'It's incredible! incredible!' he muttered, half to himself. 'I never hoped till lately that you would care for me. I never dared to think of such a thing. I knew you oughtn't to! It passes comprehension.' 'That is just what love does,' I said.