The man did not stir.
“Are you afraid of me sometimes, really?” he asked.
“Yes, horribly—as much afraid as when we were coming out here to-day.”
“I’m sorry, Elice, sorry for several reasons. Most of all because I love you.”
It was the first word of the kind that had ever passed between them. Yet neither showed surprise, nor did either change position. It was as though he had said that gravitation makes the apple fall, or that the earth was round, a thing they had both known for long, had become instinctively adjusted to. 243
“I knew that,” said the girl gently, “and know too that you’re sorry I am afraid. You can’t help it. If it weren’t true, though, you wouldn’t be you.”
The man looked at her gravely.
“You think it will always be that way?” he asked. “You’ll always be afraid at times, I mean?”
“Yes. You’re bigger than I am. I can’t understand you, I never can wholly. I’ve given up hope. We’re all afraid of things we can’t completely understand.”
Silently the man passed his hand across his face, unconsciously; his arm fell lax at his side. As the girl had known, he did not follow the lead, would not follow it unless she directed the way.