“It was not for me to give any sign,” he remarked.
“Yet you have said that it is well to have reason on one’s side.”
Perhaps a softer note allowed itself to be detected in these words. In any case, they were not plainly ironical.
“Admit, then, that an approach was due from me. I have made it. I am here.”
Rhoda said nothing. Yet she had not an air of expectancy. Her eye was grave, rather sad, as though for the moment she had forgotten what was at issue, and had lost herself in remoter thought. Regarding her, Everard felt a nobility in her countenance which amply justified all he had ever felt and said. But was there anything more—any new power?
“So we go back,” he pursued, “to our day at Wastwater. The perfect day—wasn’t it?”
“I shall never wish to forget it,” said Rhoda reflectively.
“And we stand as when we quitted each other that night—do we?”
She glanced at him.
“I think not.”