to
Marchmont's eyes all the hidden secrets of her misery; in this she seemed
also to display before him the dead body of her hopes, her interest, her
ambitions. Giving all, she had gained nothing; so her sobs said. But only
for moments does life seem so simple that a sob can cover all of it.

Presently she grew calmer. "I've never broken out like this before," she
said, "but it's rather bad to have to look forward to a life of it. And
it'll get worse, not better; or if it doesn't get worse it'll mean that
I'm getting worse, and that'll be worse than all." She smiled forlornly.
"What a tangle of 'worses' I've tied it up in, haven't I?"

She did not seem to be ashamed of her breaking-out, but rather to be
relieved by it, and to feel that it had helped to establish or renew an
intimacy in which she found some pleasure and some consolation; at least
there was one friend now who knew exactly how she stood and would not set
down to that own self of hers the actions that he might see her perform
in Quisante's service. "You once told me I ought to take a confidante,"
she reminded him. "I don't suppose you thought I should take you,
though."

She had had her outburst; his was still to come. Yet it seemed rather as
though he acted on a deliberate purpose than was carried away by any
irresistible impulse; he spoke simply and plainly.

"I love you as I've always loved you," he said.

"I know, and I've taken advantage of it to inflict all this on you." Her
eyes rested on his for some moments, and she answered his glance. "No, I
can't escape that way. I'm not talking of running away; of course I
couldn't do that." She laughed a little and even he smiled. "But I can't
escape even in--in spirit by it. Sometimes I wish I could. It would
change the centre of my life, wouldn't it? Perhaps I shouldn't mind the
things that distress me so much now. But I can't."

"You don't love me? Well, you never did." He paused an instant and added
in a puzzled way, "Somehow."

"Yes, it's all 'somehow.' Somehow I didn't; I ought to have. Somehow I've
got where I am; and somehow, I suppose, I shall endure it." She laid her
hand on his. "I should actually like to love you--in a way I do. I'm
afraid I've very little conscience about it. But somehow--yes, somehow
again--it's all a hopeless puzzle--I can't altogether, not as you mean. I
understand it very little myself, and I know you won't understand it at
all, but--well, Alexander imprisons me; I can