He stared at her speechless, and she found it bad to see the surprise and almost uncomprehending pain which came into his face, as into the face of a child unjustly smitten. But she went on resolutely: "I heard of it in England, that it was worth a lot of money—and I wanted money—so I came here; I meant to get a bulb and sell it."
"You meant to?" he said slowly; "but you haven't—you couldn't?"
"I could, six times over if I liked."
"But you have not."
"No. I was a fool, and you were—Oh, I can't explain; you would never understand, and it does not matter. The thing that matters is that I came here to get your blue daffodil."
"You must have needed money very greatly," he said in a puzzled, pitying voice.
"I did, I wanted it desperately, but that does not matter either—I came here to steal; I go away because I am found out to have deceived and to have behaved improperly—I want you to understand that."
"I do not understand," he answered; "I understand nothing but that you are you, and—and I love you."
"You don't!" she cried in sharp protest. "You do not, and you cannot! You think you love what you think I am. But I am not that; it is all quite different; when you, know, when you realise, you will see it."
"I realise now," he answered; "it is still the light, only sometimes dim."