I nodded at him, breathless and deeply solemn. “I am,” I said. “I love Heloise, and I shall love her with all my heart until I die.”
Perhaps I was guilty of a tactical blunder in giving him this information. He was so evidently not himself that he should have been handled with tact and not further confused. As it stood, I had laid the train of a profounder confusion than I could possibly have foreseen. But I had to say it.
He was still groping to comprehend this amazing thought.
“I don't get you,” he said. He was not looking at me now, and seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. “You have n't known her—it's only a few days—”
“It is nearly two weeks.”
“But you don't mean”—he fell to walking about the room, and I followed him with my eyes—“you don't mean to say—”
He stopped short, and pondered. Then he turned toward me; and it seemed to me he appeared more like his normal self than at any time since I had entered the room.
“So you 're talking for yourself,” he observed, coldly.
“No,” I replied, “I am not.”
“But you tell me you love her—”