He wasn't going to say the obvious things, the "Well, this is hard luck on both of us. You must be brave. Don't make it too hard for me." (She could have made it intolerable.) It wasn't that. He knew she was brave; he knew she wouldn't make it hard for him; he knew he hadn't got to say the obvious things.
There was something more; something tremendous. It came to her with the power and sweetness of first passion; but without its fear. She no longer wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her as he had held her yesterday. Her swinging soul was steady; it vibrated to an intenser rhythm.
She knew nothing now but that what she saw was real, and that they were seeing it together. It was Reality itself. It was more than they. When realization passed it would endure.
Never as long as they lived would they be able to speak of it, to say to each other what it was they felt and saw.
He said, "I shall have to go soon."
And she said, "I know. Is there anything I can do?"
"I wish you'd go and see my mother some time. She'd like it."
"I should love to go and see her. What else?"
"Well--I've no business to ask you, but I wish you'd give it up."