The picture, however, had its other side. Could he, in any other circumstances, have advanced so far in intimacy with his companion? When, in the ordinary intercourse of uneventful life, would the barrier which she had raised against him have been flung down? Where else than in this island prison of Salicudi would he have seen the glorious vision of hope over that barrier's crumbling walls? Dwelling on these matters, he was able to answer her pessimism with a genuine smile.
"When I first met you I told myself that I should have to play a waiting game," he said. "Well, it is proving itself so, literally."
She flushed faintly.
"You must forgive me," she sighed. "We women are not taught to wait. And in America we are allowed to be petulant, you know." She smiled. "You Britishers have more sense of discipline. But an end? Surely you yourself must want to see one? How long are you to lie there, paralyzed for action?"
He was silent for a moment, and his eyes were shadowed.
"It is I who must ask forgiveness," he said at last. "Perhaps—I hardly realized what it is—for you."
A throb of compunction stung her. She gave a little cry of protest.
"For me? It is a thousand times worse for you. I have liberty, in a sense. They let me walk abroad, even, at times—I am not interfered with—I can look out to sea and—and hope. I have you to lean on. But you? You lie within these four walls and think, and think. Your only support is within yourself. And I am a drag upon you."
And then she turned her face from the sudden passion in his eyes.
"Claire!" he said. "Claire!"