She was silent. After a moment or two she said—
“I think I will go in now. I feel rather cold. I think there must be a fog, though I can't see it.”
She gave a little shiver. He looked in her face. Was it the moon, or was it something in her thoughts that made the sweet countenance look so gray? Could his mere suggestion of the reverse, the wrong side of the web of creation, have done it? Surely not!
“I think I want some one to say must to me!” she said, after another pause. “I feel as if—”
There she stopped. Richard said nothing. Some instinct told him he might blunder.
He stood still. Barbara went on a few steps, then turned and said—
“Are you not going in?”
“Not just yet,” he answered. “Please to remember that if I can do anything for you,—”
“You are very kind. I am much obliged to you. If you know another rime,—But I think I shall have to give up poetry.”
“It will be hard to find another so good,” returned Richard.