"Tell me," she said, "why did you speak to me?"
"I don't know," he said, "I just spoke."
"You weren't"—her words were weighty, picked—"looking for a flirtation with a pretty woman?"
"Why, no. Of course not," he answered. "I never thought—"
"No. No, you didn't." She decided for herself.
She came toward him suddenly in the candle-light. Stood before him.
"Tell me, who are you? What are you?" There was a tragic appeal in her face. "Where do you come from? Where are you going?"
"I don't know." His throat was dry, his heart pounding. "A few days ago I was a contented man, unhappy but contented. And now I don't know."
"And I don't know who I am." Her mouth quivered. "I am two people—three people."
They looked at each other with a sort of agony, as though they had lost something dear to each, and to both of them. They were immensely intimate. He put out his hand....