A moment before, under the spell of the old haunts, he had been for the moment the Dangerfield of the past, the man who had come into her life as life was natural and instinctive to her. Now he was suddenly aware of all the difference that lay between them, of the far poles of society from which they had started on their groping journeys for one moment of which destiny had brought them together. He took her things from her as deferentially as though it had been for the first time, and going into the hall rang for the butler and sent him away. Even this action, instinctive in his training, showed him the division between them. She would never have thought of this.
He came back to her and with a sudden wave of gentleness laid his hand on her shoulder.
“Inga, I know that this is hard for you,” he said, “I won’t lose control of myself again. Now let’s understand each other. When man and woman have been to each other what we have been, something remains which can never completely pass away. You feel that, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“We could never do anything to hurt each other—consciously do it. I am ready to do anything that you feel you need. Now that the air is clear, let’s say what we think. We have tried so often and failed. It is my fault, for I have known for a long while that you have been unhappy.”
“No, Mr. Dan,” she said, gently, “not unhappy. I have been, well—just lost.”
“I don’t quite understand that,” he said, sitting down beside her, so close that their knees brushed one another’s, their heads almost touching. He took her hands in his.
“Yet it isn’t anything that I have done, is it? I haven’t hurt you?”
She shook her head slowly and tried to smile.
“Oh, no, you couldn’t. You’ve done more than you should. I have known that.”