"Perhaps we don't really know each other," Helen said, hoping he would not intercept this hostage she was offering to fortune, and she looked at him under her raised brows, and smiled a little, tempting him.
"We don't," he said firmly, and she drew a breath. "We only know we want each other, and all the rest of our lives is to be the adventure of finding each other out."
"But I'm not adventurous," she said.
"Oh, you'll like it," he assured her, smiling with his wonderfully white teeth and still more with the little lines round his eyes. He looked at her with that practical air of adoration which was as precious to her as his rare caress; she felt doubly honoured because, in his love-making, he preserved a humour which did not disguise his worship of her. "You'll like it," he said cheerfully. "Why don't you marry me now and take care of me?"
She made a gesture towards the upper room. "How can I?"
"No, you can't. Not," he added, "so much on that account, as simply because you can't. I'd rather wait a few months more—"
"You must," she said, and faintly irritated him. She looked at her clasped hands. "Zebedee, do you feel you want to be taken care of?" Her voice was anxious and, though he divined how much was balanced on his answer, he would not adjust it nicely.
"Not exactly," he said honestly, and he saw a light of relief and a shadow of disappointment chase each other on her face.
"After all, I think I do know you rather well," he murmured, as he took her by the shoulders. "Do you understand what I am doing?"
"You're telling me the truth."