‘If I said little—’ She stopped and laughed.
‘It is not words only, nor the tones of them that make things true. If I had the skill I could say better what would please you to hear, but having none, I make your speeches my own, to be enough for both of us.’
‘Do you never feel as though you must speak, or your heart would burst?’
‘No—I wish I could, for then the words would come. I think that the more I feel the less I am able to say.’
‘You talked very badly when you were trying to persuade me that we ought not to marry,’ said Hilda, with a side glance at his happy face.
‘And you talked well—too well—’
‘Which of us two felt the more, I wonder?’
‘What I felt was almost too much. I came near never speaking again. I do not know how I got home that day.’
‘And I—do you know? When you were gone, I did not shed a tear, I did not try to run after you, though I thought of it. I went quietly into the house and sat down and told my mother what I had said. Was it heartless, do you think? Was it because I felt nothing? It is true, I did not believe you were really ill, since you had the strength to go away on foot.’
‘What was it then?’ Greif looked wonderingly into her face.