He broke the silence after many seconds. "You will never speak to me again after this."
"I hope I shall," she said gently.
He wheeled and faced her. "You're not angry then?"
She shook her head. "No."
His eyes flashed over her with amazing swiftness. "I almost wish you were," he said.
"But why?" she said.
"Because I should know then it mattered a little. Now I know it doesn't. I am just one of the many. Isn't that it? There are so many of us that one more or less doesn't count either way." He laughed ruefully. "Well, I won't repeat the offence. Even your patience must have its limits. Shall we go back?"
It was then that Juliet turned, moved by an impulse so strangely urgent that she could not pause to analyse it. She held out her hand to him, quickly, shyly, and as he gripped and held it, she spoke, her voice tremulous, breathless, barely coherent.
"I am not—offended. I am—very—very—deeply—honoured. Only you—you—don't understand."
He kept her hand closely in his own. His grasp vibrated with electric force, but he had himself in check. "You are more generous than I deserve," he said, his voice sunk to a whisper. "Perhaps—some day—understanding will come. May I hope for that?"