What had happened to her? What possessed her? What was bewitching her that from the first instant she had laid eyes on him she seemed to realize she belonged with him--beside him! And now--now a more terrifying knowledge threatened, menaced her--the vague, obscure, formless idea that she belonged to him. Did it mean she was in love! Was _this_ love? It couldn't be. Love came differently. It was a happiness, a delight, a firm and abiding faith, a sunburst of self-revelation and self-knowledge. It wasn't tears and conscience and bewilderment, and self-reproach--and a haunting fear of self--and a constantly throttled dismay at her own capability for informality--the informality, for example, of her present attitude! And she wept anew at her own astounding degradation. Love? No, indeed. But a dreadful, unaccountable exposure of her own unaccountable capacity for familiarity! That was it. She was common--common at heart, common by instinct. She had thought she had a will of her own. It seemed she had not. She had nothing!--nothing admirable in her--neither quality nor fineness nor courage nor intellect. It must be so, or how could she be where she was, blotting her tears against the shoulder of a man she had known two days!--biting at her quivering lip in silence there, miserable, bewildered, lonely--lonely beyond belief. "Karen?" She made the effort, failed, tried again: "Yes," she managed to say. "Don't cry any more." "No." "Because I don't mean to make you unhappy." "No-o----" "But I must have those papers--mustn't I?" "Y-yes." "But you are not going to give them to me, are you?" "No-o." "And I am not going to--to tear you to pieces, am I?" "No-o-o----" "And yet I _must_ have them, mustn't I?" "Yes." "You know I am going to get them, don't you?" "Yes." "How do you think I am going to do it?" "I d-don't know." "I think I know one way." She remained silent. "It is quite a wonderful way ... if it could occur--happen, come about." She said nothing. "I don't know--I don't know--I won't think about it any more ... for a while.... It's too important to think about ... in that way ... if it is going to be important at all.... I don't know exactly what I'm saying, Karen. I seem to be thinking out loud.... The idea came ... and then remained.... You won't cry any more, will you?" "No." "I frightened you, didn't I?" "No.... Yes.... Not exactly." "You know," he said, "I don't understand you." "Don't you?" "Not clearly.... Do you care a little for me, still?" "I don't know--how I feel." "Could you care for me--be friends again--as naturally and as honestly as you were once?" "I--trusted you. Friendship is trust." "I know. I have destroyed your confidence." "Yes--my confidence in friendship." "That is a terrible thing to do," he said miserably. "Yes. Friendship ends when distrust begins. I do distrust you and I don't understand why--why distrusting you makes me care for you--even more." "Karen!"