Christian looked at her. “What is so strange? That I told you about it? It really seemed superfluous, quite as though you knew it without being told.”
“Yes,” she admitted shyly. “I often seem to stand within your soul as within a flame.”
“It is brave of you to say a thing like that.” He disliked swelling words, but this thing moved him.
“You must not be so ashamed,” she whispered.
He answered: “If I could talk like other people, much would be spared me.”
“Spared you? Would you be a niggard of yourself? Then it would no longer be you. That’s not the question. One should be a spendthrift of oneself—give oneself without stint or measure.”
“Where have you learned to make such judgments, Ruth? To see and feel and know, and to have the courage of your vision?”
“I’d like to tell you about something too,” said Ruth.
“Yes, tell me something about yourself.”