And he was amazed. His mind, half stupefied, accepted her knowledge of his love for her almost as if it were a confession of her returned love for him. It was as if the door were suddenly opened to everything he had not dared to think of hitherto. He knew then that his mind was full of dreaming of her, wild, passionate, tumultuous dreaming, dreaming that lured him to the edge of wonderland and precarious adventure. But this dreaming was unique in his experience; no slothful half-pathetic basking in the fluency of his imagination, no easy inclination to people a world with his own fancies rather than bridge the gulf that separated himself from the true objectiveness of others; this was something new and immense, a hungering of his soul for reality, a stirring of the depths in him, a monstrous leaping renewal of his youth. No longer was his imagination content to describe futile, sensual curves within the abyss of his own self, returning cloyingly to its starting-point; it soared now, embarked on a new quest, took leave of self entirely, drew him, invisibly and incalculably, he knew not where. He knew not where, but he knew with whom.... This strange, magnetic power that she possessed over him drew him not merely to herself, but to the very fountain of life; she was life, and he had never known life before. The reach of his soul to hers was the kindling touch of two immensities, something at once frantic and serene, simple and subtle, solemn and yet deep with immeasurable heart-stirring laughter. He said, half inarticulate: "What, Clare! You know that I love you?" "Of course I do." (Great God, what _was_ this thrill that was coming over him, this tremendous, invincible longing, this molten restlessness, this yearning for zest in life, for action, starry enthusiasm, resistless plunging movement!) "And you don't mind?" "I _do_ mind. That's why I didn't want you to tell me. "But what difference has telling you made, if you knew already?" "No difference to me. But it will to you. You'll love me more now that you know I know." "Shall I?" His query was like a child's. "Yes." "How do you know?" "I _know_. That's all." They were standing there together in the dark lobby. His heart was wildly beating, and hers--he wondered if it were as calm as her voice. And then all suddenly he felt her arms upon him, and she, Clare--Clare!--the reticent, always controlled Clare!--was crying, actually crying in his arms that stupidly, clumsily held her. And Clare's voice, unlike anything that it had ever been in his hearing before, was talking--talking and crying at once--accomplishing the most curious and un-Clare-like feats.