on, with the same gain of gaiety, "You must at any rate comfortably have yours," there was but one answer for him to make.
His eyes played again over the tea-things—they seemed strangely to help him; but he didn't sit down. "I've come, as you see—but I've come, please, to understand; and if you require to be alone with me, and if I break bread with you, it seems to me I should first know exactly where I am and to what you suppose I so commit myself." He had thought it out and over and over, particularly the turn about breaking bread; though perhaps he didn't give it, in her presence—this was impossible, her presence altered so many things—quite the full sound or the weight he had planned.
But it had none the less come to his aid—it had made her perfectly grave. "You commit yourself to nothing. You're perfectly free. It's only I who commit myself."
On which, while she stood there as if all handsomely and deferentially waiting for him to consider and decide, he would have been naturally moved to ask her what she committed herself then to—so moved, that is, if he hadn't, before saying it, thought more sharply still of something better. "Oh, that's another thing."
"Yes, that's another thing," Kate Cookham returned. To which she added, "So now won't you sit down?" He sank with deliberation into the seat from which Captain Roper had risen; she went
