"No, that is not enough," he said gravely.
They walked on side by side in silence for a little while.
"It is only fair that I should be very frank with you," she went on. "I have been thinking so much about you in order that when you came again with this old question, as I knew you would, I might be quite clear and frank. Do you remember that you once spoke to me about the turnpike gate--the gate which I was to open and through which I was to go, like other men and women down the appointed road?"
"Yes, I remember."
"You meant, as I understand it, the gate between friendship and the ever so much more which lies beyond?"
"Yes."
And Pamela repeated his word. "Yes," she said. "But one cannot open that gate at will. It opens of itself at a touch, or it stays shut."
"And it stays shut now?"
Pamela answered him at once--
"Say, rather, that I have raised a hand towards the gate, but that I am afraid to try." And she turned her face to him at last. Her eyes were very wistful.