"No, no, not doubts. It's only—oh, I don't know what it is. If you could always be with me, Maurice, they wouldn't come. For what I never meant to happen HAS happened. I have grown to care too much—far too much. I want you, I need you, at every moment of the day. I want you never to be out of my sight."
Maurice held her at arm's length, and looked at her. "You can say that—at last!" And drawing her to him: "Patience, darling. Just a little patience. Some day you will never be alone again."
"I do have patience, Maurice. But let me be patient in my own way. For I'm not like you. I have no room in me now for other things. I can't think of anything else. If I had my way, we should shut ourselves up alone, and live only for each other. Not share it, not make it just a part of what we do."
"But man can't live on nectar and honey alone. It wouldn't be life."
"It wouldn't be life, no. It would be more than life."
Some of the evening shadows seemed to invade her face. Her expression was childishly pathetic. He drew her to his knee.
"I should like to see you happier, Louise—yes, yes, I know!—but I mean perfectly happy, as you were sometimes at Rochlitz. Since we came back, it has never been just the right thing—say what you like."
"If only we had never come back!"
"If you still think so, darling, when I've finished here, we'll go away at once. In the meantime, patience."
"Oh, I don't mean to be unreasonable!" But her head was on his shoulder, his arms were round her; and in this position, nothing mattered greatly to her.