"I thought not."
Then they walked along for a quarter of an hour in silence. The wind ran over the grasses, and the birds sang.
"Nancy!" he said. It was the first time he had called her by her name. She covered her face and began to cry. He did not attempt to comfort her. After a while he said, "Sit down," and she sat on the grass and went on crying.
"Do you love me very much?" he asked.
"Dreadfully," said Nancy, looking up at him helplessly through her tears.
He sat down beside her.
"And do you know that I love you very much?"
"Yes, I know," sobbed Nancy.
There was a short silence. Then he said:
"In one of your letters long ago you wrote: 'This love across the distance, without the aid of any one of our senses, this is the Blue Rose of love, the mystic marvel blown in our souls for the delight of Heaven.' Shall we pluck it, Nancy, and wear it for our own delight?"