John sat silently beside her and tried to understand. It was so unexpected. He had scarcely even wished that it might be so.
"When did you think this?" he asked presently.
"Just--before he died."
"When he blessed us?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you said so before?"
"I couldn't. I haven't been able to speak. I've suddenly seen things real----"
"In the midst of all this nonsense----"
"Yes--and it's taken my breath away. All in a few hours, I've seen death and love, and I don't know what the change is in me, but I'm different. I've grown up. I understand. You say I have understood before; but I've understood nothing. I should never have come here last year, if I had understood. I should never have continued meeting you in Kensington Gardens, if I had understood. Women don't understand as a rule; no girl understands. She would never play with love, if she did. I know, suddenly, that I belong to you; that I have no right to marry anyone else. In these last few hours, I've felt that a force outside me determines the giving of my life, and it has frightened me. I couldn't say anything. When you said you were a child, then I suddenly found my tongue. I wasn't afraid any more. I knew you were a child, my child--my little child--not my master. There's no mastery in it; you're just my child."
Suddenly she closed her arms round him; she buried her head on his shoulder.