"No—because I mayn't hear yours."
"Oh, mine—!" he said with the strangest, saddest yet after all most resigned sense of surrender of it; which he tried to make sound as if he couldn't have told it, for its splendour of sacrifice and of misery, even if he would.
It seemed to move in her a little, exactly, that sense of the invidious. "Ah, mine too, I assure you—!"
He rallied at once to the interest. "Oh, we can talk then?"
"Never," she most oddly replied. "Never," said Kate Cookham.
They remained so, face to face; the effect of which for him was that he had after a little understood why. That was fundamental. "Well, I see."
Thus confronted they stayed; and then, as he saw with a contentment that came up from deeper still, it was indeed she who, with her worn fine face, would conclude. "But I can take care of you."
"You have!" he said as with nothing left of him but a beautiful appreciative candour.
"Oh, but you'll want it now in a way—!" she responsibly answered.
He waited a moment, dropping again on the seat. So, while she still stood, he looked up at her; with the sense somehow that there were too many things and that they were all together, terribly, irresistibly, doubtless blessedly, in her eyes and her whole person;
