"Oh-h," she said, softly.
He was silent. They walked on, she with her head bent a little.
"Didn't you want me to?" he asked at length.
"Not if you care to stay…. I never want what those I care for are indifferent about."
"I am not indifferent. I think I had better go."
"Is the reason important?"
"I don't know, Valerie—I don't really know."
He was thinking of this new and sweet familiarity—something suddenly born into being under the wide stars—something that had not been a moment since, and now was—something invoked by the vastness of earth and sky—something confirmed by the wind in the forest.
"I had better go," he said.
Her silence acquiesced; they turned into the ragged lawn, ascended the dew-wet steps; and then he released her waist.