“From what Dolf said, from what I myself thought, when I saw you.”
“And why are you now sorry that I am not ‘a person apart,’ as you call it?” she asked, still laughing.
“From vanity; because I made a mistake. And yet perhaps I have not made a mistake....”
They looked at each other; and both of them, although each thought it in a different way, now thought the same thing, namely, that they must be careful with their words, because they were speaking of something very delicate and tender, something as frail as a soap-bubble, which could easily break if they spoke of it too loudly; the mere breath of their words might be sufficient. Yet she ventured to ask:
“And why ... do you believe ... that perhaps ... you are not mistaken?”
“I don’t quite know. Perhaps because I wish it so. Perhaps, too, because it is so true as to leave no room for doubt. Oh, yes, I am almost sure that I judged rightly! Do you know why? Because otherwise I should have hidden myself and been commonplace; and I find this impossible with you. I have given you more of myself in this short moment than I have given people whom I have known for years in the course of all those years. Therefore surely you must be a person apart.”
“What do you mean by ‘a person apart’?”
He smiled, he opened his eyes; she looked into them again, deeply.
“You understand, surely!” he said.
Fear for the delicate thing that might break came between them again. They understood each other as with a freemasonry of feeling. Her eyes were magnetically held upon his.