"Never! Never! Every hour, every moment cries 'never!'"
In her heart she told herself that at least none but she could ever love him so well; and in the strange confidence his father's visit had given to her she told him in her turn how every hour and every moment made her more dependent upon his love.
"I want nothing but you, nothing, nothing. I've given up everything for you."
"What have you given up?" he demanded at once, jealously and triumphantly regarding her.
"Oh, nothing really; but all the foolish little interests. Nothing, my dearest; only pigeons and music and working woollen birds and visiting poor people. Such foolish little things ... and yet things that were once upon a time frightfully important."
"You mustn't give up your music and your pigeons."
They both laughed at the absurd conjunction.
"How can I play when I'm thinking of you always, every second? Why, when I do anything but think of you, every object and every word floats away as it does when I'm tired and trying to keep awake in a big room."
"You can play to me," he argued, "even when I'm not there."
"Guy darling, I do, I do; but you've no idea how hopelessly playing to an absent lover destroys the time."