perhaps hopeful. I
thought it might be very beautiful--"

"You were seeking, as I was," he said, suddenly gentle.

"And--it meant softness, being bowled over, loss of control and finally
cynicism," she said.

"No, no. Not finally cynicism, Marcella. Cynicism half-way along, if you
like. But finally--anchoring."

She looked at him, very slowly, all over: her hands were quite still on
her blue print frock that smelt of fire: many and many a night and day
of hard schooling and cold patience had gone to make them lie there so
untremulous now. She reflected on that for a moment; she reflected that,
in years to come, by enduring hardness, people would be able to school
their hearts from beating the swift blood to a whirlpool, their lips
from hungering for a kiss. She thought next of Aunt Janet, desiccated,
uncaring, and knew that Aunt Janet's way of life was wrong because it
shirked rather than faced things. Her long gaze had reached his
beautiful eyes and stayed there; she seemed to see down into a thousand
years, a thousand lives. She knew quite well that here was the place of
dreams come true; here was the deliverer with whom she had thought to
ride to battle, and he too had dreamed. He saw her armour. He did not
see the chinks in it. And he never should. And--he had said women had no
inhibitions!

"It's hard," she said, her eyes still resting on his, "to keep your
thoughts brave as well as your actions, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, Marcella?"

She was sitting motionless and white; he thought he had never seen a
live thing so still, so impassive. As she watched his lips, and heard
his voice speak her name, blazing floods of weakness were pouring over
her.

"There are things one mustn't do," she said slowly. "But they would be
most beautiful to think about, right deep down and quiet inside--like
Mary had to hide and ponder in her heart the things the angel told her.
One mustn't. I mustn't even think about you--that way--"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Thoughts drag people down, down, don't they? Except for a minute or
two I've thought clean and selfless about Louis. Always about you I've
thought very shiningly. If I let go a minute the shine of you will be
out of my eyes. Do you see? Then I'll be like--like any of the other
women! All soft corners and seduction. Just while you've been talking to
me I've understood that I _want_ to be like that; that's why I've been
so dead this last month since you went away.