"Because I could not make you happy."
"Why not?"
"What could a serious man like you find in me?"
His intense, burning gaze held hers. "Some time I will tell you."
She shut herself within herself like a flower folding away its beauty and leaving exposed only the underside of its petals. It was impossible to say whether she understood or was merely obeying an instinct.
He watched her a moment in silence. Then he said:
"I am mad about you—mad. You must understand. I can think only of you. I am insane with jealousy of you. I want you—I must have you."
He would have seized her in his arms, but the look of sheer amazement she gave him protected her where no protest or struggle would. "You?" she said. "Did you really mean it? I thought you were just talking."
"Can't you see that I mean it?"
"Yes—you look as if you did. But I can't believe it. I could never think of you in that way."