“What do you mean?” I asked. “Yva, you talk like one who has finished with life.”
“It passes,” she answered quickly. “Life passes like breath fading from a mirror. So should all talk who breathe beneath the sun.”
“Yes, Yva, but if you went and left me still breathing on that mocking glass—”
“If so, what of it? Will not your breath fade also and join mine where all vapours go? Or if it were yours that faded and mine that remained for some few hours, is it not the same? I think, Humphrey, that already you have seen a beloved breath melt from the glass of life,” she added, looking at me earnestly.
I bowed my head and answered:
“Yes, and therefore I am ashamed.”
“Oh! why should you be ashamed, Humphrey, who are not sure but that two breaths may yet be one breath? How do you know that there is a difference between them?”
“You drive me mad, Yva. I cannot understand.”
“Nor can I altogether, Humphrey. Why should I, seeing that I am no more than woman, as you are no more than man? I would always have you remember, Humphrey, that I am no spirit or sorceress, but just a woman—like her you lost.”
I looked at her doubtfully and answered: