She laughed in spite of herself with her eyes full of tears. "There's not much comfort in that."
"I haven't any comfort to give you," said Nick, "not at this stage.
I'll give you advice if you like—which I know you won't take."
"No, please don't! That would be even worse." There was a tremor in her voice. She knew that she had stepped off the beaten track; but she had an intense, an almost passionate longing to go a little further, to penetrate, if only for a moment, that perpetual mask.
"Don't let us talk of my affairs," she said. "Tell me of your own.
What are you going to do?"
Nick's eyebrows went up. "I thought I was coming to your wedding," he remarked. "That's as far as I've got at present."
She made a gesture of impatience. "Do you never think of the future?"
"Not in your presence," laughed Nick. "I think of you—you—and only you. Didn't you know?"
She turned away in silence. Was he tormenting her deliberately? Or did he fail to see that she was in earnest?
There followed a pause, and then, urged by that unknown impulse that would not be repressed, she did a curious thing. She got up, and, facing him, she made a very earnest appeal.
"Nick, why do you always treat me like this? Why will you never be honest with me?"