"Do you guess, as he does, that my reason for going was that I might be kept aloof from all sight and sound of you and him? In the result toward which I saw you drive I could have no part."
"Stay; I know that he will go."
"You do not know. Nor do you know what such a man is when—" checking himself.
"He is in love?"
"If you choose to call it that."
"I do."
All there was to say should be said now; but I felt more agitated than was my wont. These feelings, not according with my housewifely condition, upset me. I looked at him; he began to walk about, taking up a book, which he leaned his head over, and whose covers he bent back till they cracked.
"You would read me that way," I said.
"It is rather your way of reading."
"Can you remember that Desmond and I influence each other to act alike? And that we comprehend each other without collision? I love him, as a mature woman may love,—once, Ben, only once; the fire-tipped arrows rarely pierce soul and sense, blood and brain."