"Ourselves," he answered her. "We have a splendid opportunity. Here we are, cut off by the fog, away from every one in the world. We know nothing about one another, or almost nothing. We can scarcely see one another's faces. It is a wonderful opportunity."
"Well, you tell me about yourself first."
"Ah! there's the trouble. I'm so terribly dull. I've never been or thought or said anything interesting. I'm like thousands and thousands of people in this world who are simply shadows to everybody else."
"Remember we're to tell the truth," she said. "No one ever honestly thinks that about themselves—that they are just shadows of somebody else. Every one has their own secret importance for themselves—at least, every one in our village had. People you would have supposed had nothing in them, yet if you talked to them you soon saw that they fancied that the world would end if they weren't in it to make it go round."
"Well, honestly, that isn't my opinion of myself," Harkness answered. "I don't think that I help the world to go round at all. Of course, I think that there have to be all the ordinary people in it like myself to appreciate all the doings and sayings of the others, the geniuses—to make the audience. There are so many things I don't care for."
"What do you care for?"
"Oh, different things at different times—not permanently for much. Pictures—especially etchings—music, travel. But never very deeply or urgently, except for the etchings. . . . Until to-night," he suddenly added, lowering his voice.
"Until to-night?"
"Yes, ever since I left Paddington—let me see—how many hours ago? It's now about two o'clock, I suppose." He looked at his watch. "Ten minutes to two. Nearly nine hours. Ever since nine hours ago. I've felt a new kind of energy, a new spirit, the thrill, the excitement that all my life I've wanted to have but that never came until now. Being really in life instead of just watching it like a spectator."
She put her hand on his. "I am so glad you're here. Do you know I used to boast that I never could be frightened by anything? But these last weeks—all my courage has gone. Oh, why has this fog come? We were getting on so well, everything was all right—and now I know they'll find us, I know they'll find us. I'm sure he's just behind there, somewhere, hiding in the fog, listening to us. And perhaps David is killed. I can't bear it. I can't bear it!"