“What did you mean just now when you asked me whether I couldn’t mingle my life with an unhappy life? Sit here beside me.”
She sat down on the edge of the divan very near to him.
“What do you suppose I meant?”
“Do you mean to say you like me in that way?”
“Yes.”
“That you care about me?”
“Yes.”
“You said you willed me to come out to Constantinople. Was it for that reason?”
She hesitated. She had an instinctive understanding of men, but she knew that, in one way, Dion was not an ordinary man; and even if he had been, the catastrophe in his life might well have put him for the time beyond the limits of her experience, wide though they were.
“No,” she said, at last. “I didn’t like you in that way till I met you in the street, and saw what she had done to you.”