She bowed her face over the hands which he still held; suddenly he drew her close into his arms; and she rested so, her head against his shoulder.
"I won't talk to you of love any more," he whispered. "You poor little girl—you poor little thing. I didn't realise—I don't want to think about it——"
"I don't either," she said. "You will be kind to me, won't you?"
"Of course—of course—you little, little girl. Nobody is going to find fault with you, nobody is going to blame you or be unkind or hurt you or demand anything at all of you or tell you that you make mistakes. People are just going to like you, Strelsa, and you needn't love them if you don't want to. You shall feel about everything exactly as you please—about Tom, Dick, and Harry and about me, too."
Her hot face against his shoulder was quivering.
"There," he whispered—"there, there—you little, little girl. That's all I want of you after all—only what you want of me. I don't wish to marry you if you don't wish it; I won't—I perhaps couldn't really love you very deeply if you didn't respond. I shall not bother you any more—or worry or nag or insist. What you do is right as far as I am concerned; what you offer I take; and whenever you find yourself unable to respond to anything I offer, say so fearlessly—look so, even, and I'll understand. Is all well between us now, Strelsa?"
"Yes.... You are so good.... I wanted this.... You don't mean anything, do you by—by your arm around me——"
"No more than your face against my shoulder means." He smiled—"Which I suppose signifies merely that you feel very secure with me."
"I—begin to.... Will you let me?"
"Yes.... Do you feel restless? Do you want to lift your head?"