The wisdom she could use so well with others was of no avail with him: he was too much herself to be treated cunningly. She felt that she floated on a sea vastly bigger than she had ever known, and its waves were love and fear and cruelty and fate, but in a moment he turned and she saw a raft on which she might sail for ever.
"Forgive me."
"You've made me love you more."
"With being a brute to you?"
"Were you one? But—don't often be angry. I might get used to it!"
He laughed. "Oh, Helen, you wonder! But I've spoilt our memories."
"With such a little thing? And when I liked it?"
"You nearly cried. I don't want to remember that."
"But I shall like to because we're nearer than we were," she said, and to that he solemnly agreed. "And I am going to talk about it."
"Anything, of course."