am."

"I'm sure of myself, too. Because I'm sure of things outside myself."

He did not try to understand her. He was wrestling with the expression
of his own experiences. He threw out his free hand and turned it and
closed the powerful, slender fingers, as though he were moulding some
invisible substance.

"Outside things are colourless and lifeless--sort of plastic stuff--until
we get hold of them. We twist them to the best shapes we can. Nothing
happens to us that isn't exactly like ourselves. Even what people call
accidents. Even a man's diseases. I've seen that in the Wards. People
die as they live, and they live as they are----"

And now she did laugh, throwing back her head, and he laughed with her,
shyly but not resentfully. It was as though a crisis in their
relationship had been passed. He could trust her to understand. And he
knew that though what he had said was true, it had also sounded young and
sententious.

"You think I'm talking rot, don't you?"

"I only think you've changed," she answered, with a quick gravity. "Not
outside. Outside you're just a few feet bigger and the round lines have
become straight. But when you were a little boy you used to cry a good
deal."

"I don't see--how did you know?"

"I did know. There were certain smears--I don't think you liked having
your face washed--and a red, tired, look under the eyes. The point is
that now I can't imagine your ever having cried at all."

"I haven't." He calculated solemnly. "Not for more than twelve years.
I remember, because it was after I had played truant at the circus."

But he did not want to tell her about the circus. He stopped short and
looked at his watch in the lamplight.

"Nearly twelve. We've been prowling round this place for an hour. I've
got to get home and work. I thought you said you lived near here."

"I do. Over the way. The big house. I've two rooms on the top floor.
Rather jolly--and near St. Mary's----"

"What--what do you want with St. Mary's?"

But she had already begun to cross the road, and the wind, coming down a
side street with a shriek, sent her scudding before it like a leaf. She
was half-way up the grey stone steps before he overtook her. She turned
on him, the short ends of her hair flying wickedly.

"Of course, it's only right and natural that you should talk of nothing
but yourself."

He stammered breathlessly.

"I didn't think--I'm sorry----"

"Do you suppose y