Presently she became still. “Oh, well,” she said, and wiped her eyes and
sat down on the little sofa by the fire; and I sat down beside her.
“I didn't know all there was in love,” she said, staring at the coals,
“when we went love-making.”
I put my arm behind her and took a handful of her dear soft hair in my
hand and kissed it.
“You've done a great thing this time,” she said. “Handitch will make
you.”
“It opens big chances,” I said. “But why are you weeping, dear one?”
“Envy,” she said, “and love.”
“You're not lonely?”
“I've plenty to do--and lots of people.”
“Well?”
“I want you.”
“You've got me.”
She put her arm about me and kissed me. “I want you,” she said, “just as
if I had nothing of you. You don't understand--how a woman wants a man.
I thought once if I just gave myself to you it would be enough. It was
nothing--it was just a step across the threshold. My dear, every moment
you are away I ache for you--ache! I want to be about when it isn't
love-making or talk. I want to be doing things for you, and watching
you when you're not thinking of me. All those safe, careless, intimate
things. And something else--” She stopped. “Dear, I don't want to bother
you. I just want you to know I love you....”
She caught my head in her hands and kissed it, then stood up abruptly.