She thrilled at this, she even suffered him, for some reason unknown to herself, to take her arm again.
“How could I help you?”
“Oh, in a thousand ways—you ought to know, you do a good deal of thinking for me, and you can help me by just being there. I can't explain it, but I feel somehow that things will go right. I've come to depend on you.”
He was a little surprised to find himself saying these things he had not intended to say, and the lighter touch he had always possessed in dealing with the other sex, making him the envied of his friends, had apparently abandoned him. He was appalled at the possibility of losing her.
“I've never met a woman like you,” he went on, as she remained silent. “You're different—I don't know what it is about you, but you are.” His voice was low, caressing, his head was bent down to her, his shoulder pressed against her shoulder. “I've never had a woman friend before, I've never wanted one until now.”
She wondered about his wife.
“You've got brains—I've never met a woman with brains.”
“Oh, is that why?” she exclaimed.
“You're beautiful,” he whispered. “It's queer, but I didn't know it at first. You're more beautiful to-night than I've ever seen you.”
They had come almost to Warren Street. Suddenly realizing that they were standing in the light, that people were passing to and fro over the end of the bridge, she drew away from him once more, this time more gently.