"You have it for an hour," she muttered; "I have had it for twelve months. Have you ever wanted to shriek? I wanted to shriek just now, violently!"
"I know you did," he said. "Well, it's nearly over.... Are you glad?"
"Yes, and no—I can't say. If——"
"Won't you go on?"
"If I dared hope to do anything else.... But I'm not going to talk like that any more! I'm ridiculous enough already."
"To whom are you ridiculous?"
"To my own perception—you!"
"Not to me," he said.
"'Pathetic'? Yes, to you I'm 'pathetic.' You pity me as you might pity a lunatic who imagined she was the Queen of England."
"I think you know," said Heriot diffidently, "that neither the Queen nor a lunatic inspires in me quite the feeling that I have for you."