"But look here," he began, and stopped again abruptly, deep in thought.
The flame of the spirit-lamp on the shelf between them flickered and failed, and sputtered up again noisily. Mechanically he rose to extinguish it, and, still absently, cleared the little table of its china and eatables.
Then he sat down once more, and leant forward, his arms on the table, his expression determined, yet very friendly.
"Alwynne," he said, in his most matter-of-fact voice, "hadn't you better tell me all about it?"
"You?"
"Why not?" he said comfortably. "You'll feel ever so much better if you get if off your chest."
For an instant she hesitated: then she shook her head wearily.
"I would like to tell some one. But I can't. I sound mad, even to myself. I couldn't tell any one. I couldn't tell Elsbeth even."
"Of course not," he agreed. "You can't worry your own people."
"No, you can't, can you?" she said, grateful for his comprehension.