"Somehow, you are my only hope. Somehow, I feel that you will understand me—better than I understand myself. I suppose that that means that I love you. You know that. And I know that you love me. There can be no doubt about that, after last night. And yet, somehow, even that doesn't excite me now. It doesn't seem to mean—what I suppose it ought to mean—to me. Why doesn't it mean—more to me? I am trying to tell you the truth, so far as I can see it. I am sick of mystery. I am utterly weary of deceit. It seems to me, that—our only hope is—plain speaking—"
All this time, Judith had remained motionless, and quiescent, in her chair. She turned, now, a little towards the King. Her expression was grave, but friendly.
"I want you to sit down, Alfred," she said quietly. "Find another chair, and bring it out here. When you sit down, I will talk to you. I want to talk to you."
The King swung round into the summer house, and brought out another chair. Placing it beside Judith's, he sat down. Then he fixed his eyes upon her face.
"I am glad that you have said, what you have said, Alfred," Judith began. "I have wanted you to give me your confidence, the whole of your confidence, for so long. I have always understood, I think, why you have been silent—about so many things. But I wanted you—to trust me. Now—you have trusted me—
"I agree with you that the time has come for plain speaking. I am glad that it has come. I will speak as plainly as I can."
"First of all, you are not a derelict, Alfred. You are more like—a ship that has not found herself. You know what happens on a trial trip? The ship has not found herself. The Captain, and the crew, have got to get to know her. She ships the sea. Bolts and plates stretch and strain. Queer things happen in the engine room. And then, suddenly, all in a moment, the ship finds herself, rights herself. You will be—like that. Your trial trip has been run in a storm. You have been plunged, at the start into hurricane weather. But you will find yourself, right yourself. And, when your moment comes, you will sail the seas with any craft afloat.
"But that is—politics! And you, and I, are not really greatly interested in politics, are we? What we are really interested in is—ourselves—our own intimacy, our own relationship. When you say that you don't know where you are, where you stand, what you mean, at the back of your mind, is that you don't know where we are, and where we stand. I will tell you where I stand. If I tell you where I stand, you will be able to see—your own position. I will speak, as plainly as I can, about myself—"
Judith paused there, as if she wished to marshal her thoughts, and fit them with words.
The King kept his eyes fixed upon her face. His instinct had been right. Judith understood him, better than he understood himself. Already, he was conscious that the tumult within him was subsiding. Judith, with her clear eyes, and sure touch, would disentangle the mingled threads of their strange destiny, rearrange them, and put them straight.