"What do you mean?"
"Shall I tell you?"
"Of course."
"Then,"—but he could not say it. He had no business to, and he knew it. It was the one thing he could refrain from saying, for her sake; the one service he could now render her.
He sat staring into space, the iron grimness of self-control locking every fetter that he wore—must always wear now.
She waited, her eyes intent on his face, her colour high, heart rapid.
"What had you to say to me?" she asked, breaking the silence.
He forced a laugh: "Nothing—except that sometimes being with you again makes me—very contented—"
"Is that what you had to say?"
"Yes. I told you it was nothing new."