with it to
him.

Was he still the same, quite the same? She, whom love had made a child
of, asked it fearfully, as if to gaze upon him openly just at first
might be blinding; and he pretended not to understand. "The same as
what, Grizel?"

"Are you still--what I think you?"

"Ah, Grizel, not at all what you think me."

"But you do?"

"Coward! You are afraid to say the word. But I do!"

"You don't ask whether I do!"

"No."

"Why? Is it because you are so sure of me?"

He nodded, and she said it was cruel of him.

"You don't mean that, Grizel."

"Don't I?" She was delighted that he knew it.

"No; you mean that you like me to be sure of it."

"But I want to be sure of it myself." "You are. That was why you
asked me if I loved you. Had you not been sure of it you would not
have asked."

"How clever you are!" she said gleefully, and caressed a button of his
velvet coat. "But you don't know what that means! It does not mean
that I love you--not merely that."

"No; it means that you are glad I know you so well. It is an ecstasy
to you, is it not, to feel that I know you so well?"

"It is sweet," she said. She asked curiously: "What did you do last
night, after you left me? I can't guess, though I daresay you can
guess what I did."

"You put the glove under your pillow, Grizel." (She had got the
precious glove.)

"However could you guess!"

"It has often lain under my own."

"Oh!" said Grizel, breathless.

"Could you not guess even that?"

"I wanted to be sure. Did it do anything strange when you had it
there?"

"I used to hear its heart beating."

"Yes, exactly! But this is still more remarkable. I put it away at
last in my sweetest drawer, and when I woke in the morning it was
under my pillow again. You could never have guessed that."

"Easily. It often did the same thing with me." "Story-teller! But
what did you do when you went home?"

He could not have answered that exhaustively, even if he would, for
his actions had been as contradictory as his emotions. He had feared
even while he exulted, and exulted when plunged deep in fears. There
had been quite a procession of Tommies all through the night; one of
them had been a very miserable man, and the only thing he had been
sure of was that he must be true to Grizel. But in so far as he did
answer he told the truth.

"I went for a stroll among the stars," he said. "I don't know when I
got to bed. I have found a way of reaching the sta