"Why shouldn't I? Isn't it true?"
"Yes, but you—you seem so unlike the woman you are."
"Oh, I see. But you haven't told me fully why you wanted me to say I loved you."
He stood up nervously and moved a few paces away, but the patient, self-reproachful gaze in Claire's eyes brought him back again.
"Why talk of that at all, dearest?" he whispered. "We have each other. Isn't that enough?"
"Perhaps not. You asked me to say it, you know."
"Yes, but I don't care. I won't plague you. I know you do love, me." He kissed her again and then looked at her. Her lips had been cold.
"What is the matter, Claire? Don't you love me? Is that why you wouldn't give me your word?"
It was coming at last. How could she make Philip see, and yet be fair to him, too?
"I don't know what you mean by love." Her voice was carefully toneless.