"Yes ... and I? What am I to do? What room is there for me in your plans of work?"
He glanced sharply at her; but she had not moved.
"Louise, dearest! I know that what I say must sound selfish and inconsiderate. And yet I can't help it. I'm forced to ask you to wait ... merely to wait. And for what? Good Heavens, no one realises it as I do! I have nothing to offer you, in return—but my love for you. But if you knew how strong that is—if you knew how happy I am resolved to make you! Have a little patience, darling! It will all come right in the end—if only you love me! And you do, don't you? Say once more you do."
She turned so swiftly that the tail of her dressing-gown twisted, and fell over on itself.
"Can you still ask that? Have you not had proof enough? Is there an inch of you that doesn't believe in my love for you? Oh, Maurice! ... It's only that I'm tired to-night—and restless. I was so wretched at having to come back. And the heat has got on my nerves. I wish a great storm would come, and shake the house, and make the branches of the trees beat against the panes—do you remember? And we were so safe. The worse the storm was, the closer you held me." She sat down beside him, on the arm of the sofa. "Such a night seemed doubly wild after the long, still days that had gone before it—do you remember?—Oh, why had it all to end? Weren't we happy enough? Or did we ask too much? Why must time go just the same over happiness and unhappiness alike?" She got up again, and strayed back to the window. "Days like those will never—CAN never—come again. Even as it is, coming back has made a difference. Could you even yesterday have spoken as you do to-day? Was there any room then for common sense between us? No, we were too happy. It was enough to know we were alive."
"Be reasonable, darling. I am as sorry as you that these weeks are over; but, glorious as they were, they couldn't last for ever. And trust me; we shall know other days just as happy.—But if, because I talk like this, you imagine I don't love you a hundred times better even than yesterday—but you don't mean that! You know me better, my Rachel!"
"Yes. Perhaps you're right—you ARE right. But I am right, too."
She came back, and sat down on the sofa again, and propped her chin on her hand.
"You're tired to-night, dear—that's all. To-morrow things will look different, and you'll see the truth of what I say. At night, things get distorted——"
"No, no, one only really sees in the dark," she interrupted him.