“No,” said Harvey, quickly, “don't go. I don't want you to go. I want to talk to you.” His voice dropped as he spoke, and both suddenly became conscious of a change that had come over them, between them. Katherine sat still, turning her head toward the window, and though she could not see him she knew that Harvey was looking at her. The room was darker now.
“Have you thought how odd this is,” Harvey went on, “this conversation? We are talking just as though nothing had happened, just as though we were the same people who—who bought things at Field's; but we aren't. There's no use in thinking we are.” He paused to raise himself on his elbow. “Do you know it is just twelve days since we were here?”
Katherine laughed a little.
“You have counted them?”
“Yes. Last night when I was coming down on the special I thought about it—you know it seems longer, it seems a year ago. You remember we talked about the M. & T. And the next day when you drove me to the station—do you remember? I've wondered since then, a good many times, what you meant, whether you really wanted to see us win.” She started to speak, but he broke in: “If I dared think so—”
“You think I am weak.”
“No, if you really want to know what I think—I think you are the strongest girl I ever knew. Katherine,”—he reached impulsively for her hand, but she drew it away,—“I think you are—well, I might as well say it, you probably know it anyhow. I love you. I—I don't know that there is anything else to say.”
Katherine leaned back and looked at him. Her back was toward the window, and he could see only the outline of her head.
“Are you sure?” she asked slowly.
“You mean—you think I'm not well, that I haven't control of myself—I do love you, Katherine, so much that I can't get along without you. You believe me, don't you? You must believe me!”