"And I was lonely too," said Bernardine.
"Every one is lonely," he said, "but every one does not know it."
"But now and again the knowledge comes like a revelation," she said, "and we realise that we stand practically alone, out of any one's reach for help or comfort. When you come to think of it, too, how little able we are to explain ourselves. When you have wanted to say something which was burning within you, have you not noticed on the face of the listener that unmistakable look of non-comprehension, which throws you back on yourself? That is one of the moments when the soul knows its own loneliness!"
Robert Allitsen looked up at her.
"You little thing," he said, "you put things neatly sometimes. You have felt, haven't you?"
"I suppose so," she said. "But that is true of most people."
"I beg your pardon," he answered, "most people neither think nor feel: unless they think they have an ache, and then they feel it!"
"I believe," said Bernardine, "that there is more thinking and feeling than one generally supposes."
"Well, I can't be bothered with that now," he said. "And you interrupted me about my dream. That is an annoying habit you have."
"Go on," she said. "I apologize!"