“I wanted you to tell me a minute ago why you were asking me these questions, and you said for nothing.” I could see her smile behind the chiffon of the yashmak as she went on, “Since that’s your only reason, perhaps you won’t mind if I don’t answer you.” “But if I had a reason for asking, would you tell me then?” “Wouldn’t it have to depend on the reason?” “You’re very careful.” She shot a daring, smiling glance at me as she riposted, “Well, aren’t you?” Before I had time to recover from the slight shock that these words dealt me she pointed to the horizon. “See, there’s smoke over there. I do hope it’s not another U-boat.” I accepted the diversion—for more reasons than one. Of these the first was the shock to which I have alluded. She saw through me. That is, she saw I didn’t place her first. How she saw it I could no more tell than she could tell how I knew her history of the past two years. But the tables were turned and turned in such a way as to make me feel ridiculous. A man who is careful with regard to a woman is always slightly grotesque. As my most skilful defense lay in feigning a lack of perception I talked about U-boats and the experience of two days before; but I came away from her with a feeling of discomfort. I analyzed the feeling of discomfort as due to the repetition of our mutual attitude more than two years previously. Where she came forward I drew back. I had always drawn back. I used to suppose that nothing but one motive could have driven me to this humiliating course, and now I was taking it from another. I was taking it from another, and she knew it. The essence of the humiliation lay in that. Each time I met her on deck she betrayed a hesitation that I found harder to bear than contempt. Her very effort to preserve a tone of friendliness was a reproach to me. It seemed to say: “You see all I’ve done for you. You accept it and give me nothing in return.”