She made a rather piteous attempt to laugh. "Really I don't want to," she said.
"Really?" said Monck. He drew a little nearer to her, still holding her hand. His grasp was firm and strong. "Really?" he said again.
She stood in silence, for she could not give him any answer.
He waited for a moment or two; then, "Stella," he said, "are you afraid of me?"
She shook her head. Her lips had begun to tremble inexplicably. "No—no," she said.
"What then?" He spoke with a gentleness that she had never heard from him before. "Of yourself?"
She turned her face away from him. "I am afraid—of life," she told him brokenly. "It is like a great Wheel—a vast machinery. I have been caught in it once—caught and crushed. Oh can't you understand?"
"Yes," he said.
Again for a space he was silent, his hand yet holding hers. There was subtle comfort in his grasp. It held protection.
"And so you want to run away from it?" he said at length. "Do you think that's going to help you?"