"Oh, Peter, the things we have to tell each other. The times you thought you were alone—the times I thought I was! You've had a life you never dreamed of—and I another life that was not in my dreams."
"You've saved me from death more than once," said Peter.
"You've done more than that," said Helen, "you've given me the only life I've had. But a thing doesn't belong to you because you've saved its life or given it life. It only belongs to you because you love it. I know you belong to me. But you only know if I belong to you."
"That's not true now. You do know. And I know."
"Yes; and we know that as that belonging has nothing to do with death, it can't have anything either to do with the saving or even the giving of life. So you must never thank me, or I you. There are no thanks in love. And that was why I couldn't bear your asking me to marry you to-day. I thought you were thanking me."
"When you played with the seagull..."
"Yes?"
"How you loved it!"
"Yes."
"I looked to see how you felt when you loved a thing. I wanted so much to be the seagull in your hands."