“Only that I’ve felt, almost from the first, that there was no confidence between us, Arthur. We’re not starting right. We can’t stand still—we shall keep on growing either together or apart. You know it, I know it; but there’s something—it’s like a veil, impalpable and yet impenetrable—between us. What is it? Help me”—she half withdrew herself from his arms and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder—“help me to solve this riddle, dear, or——”
He was a little pale, but for the first time his eyes held hers, and she was less conscious of the retreat in them.
“Or what?” he asked.
His tone seemed expressionless, yet her quick ear caught a guarded note.
“Or we shall lose each other,” she finished bravely. “Don’t you see? We’re two souls reaching out to each other through this thing that we call love; but if we can’t find any meeting-point, we shall pass—our two souls, I mean—like ships in the night! I’m not jealous, I’m not curious, but I want to feel that you and I stand face to face in spiritual confidence, that I know your heart as fully as I’ll try to make you know mine!”
He snatched at the chance she gave him—a chance for evasion.
“Oh, I know it, Diane—it’s a heart of gold! Beside it mine seems as commonplace as lead or pewter; but I love you—never doubt that—I love you with all my soul!”
As he spoke, he folded her close with a reiterated protest of his devotion. There was a moment of silence. Diane hid her face on his shoulder.
It was useless to try to reach him. She knew it now—knew that in protesting his affection with kisses and vows he had used the commonest weapon of defense against a jealous woman. She slipped out of his arms after a moment, and went back to the table, quietly putting aside the little tray on which she had previously set the samovar. He looked at his watch.
“I’ll have to go at once, dear, to get my train. No, I sha’n’t need any bag, I’m coming back so soon.”