She entered with a timid hesitation and a half-frightened look he was quick to note. He was sure from the expression of her eyes that she had not slept.
"You did not sleep well?" he asked.
"I didn't sleep at all," she confessed.
He attempted to take her hand and she drew back trembling.
"Now, you are afraid of me?"
"Yes. I'm afraid I am," she stammered.
"Why of me? The one man of all men on earth—the man who loves you?"
"Perhaps that's just why I'm afraid of you," she said, with an effort to smile. "But, to tell you the truth, I think it's just because you are a man. Last night I lay awake thinking it all over. I'm quite sure that I shall always be afraid of men. I like you better than any man I've ever known, but now that you've told me you love me I'm uneasy when I'm near you. I think you'd better give me up at once. I'm sure I'm hopeless as a sweet-heart. I know I could never marry. The domestic instinct seems utterly missing in my nature. I love man in the abstract, but I can never surrender to any particular man. It seems like suicide. I want to be myself. I hate the idea of losing myself in another's being—I can't endure it, and if you make love to me any more I shall be very unhappy—and—I'll have to keep out of your way. You won't do this any more will you? Promise me, and we will be our old selves again—just comrades."
Norman bowed with a smile.
"I promise never to speak another word of love to you until you tell me that you love me!"