“But that isn’t it, is it? It isn’t my being happy—I wish you could help me,” she added, twisting her fingers nervously, and frowning—“I wish you could tell me.”
He started up, then flung himself down by her side, burying his face.
“For God’s sake, Sylvia, what do you want me to say?”
“Why, what you would like, of course,” she returned simply. “We ought both of us to love each other, oughtn’t we?”
He made a slight movement of his head.
“One—isn’t enough?”
Silence. But Sylvia must always have an answer.
“Is it, Walter?”
He twisted himself.
“Oh, I don’t know.”