"
He put down his glass and opened the window. From where she
knelt, jangling her keys, she could see a slit of darkness, and,
peering into it, as if it would tell him that "little more," his
long, thoughtful face.
"Don't open the window; and you'd better draw the curtain, too;
Freddy or any one might be outside." He obeyed. "I really think
we had better go to bed, if you don't mind. I shall only say
things that will make me unhappy afterwards. As you say it is all
too horrible, and it is no good talking."
But to Cecil, now that he was about to lose her, she seemed each
moment more desirable. He looked at her, instead of through her,
for the first time since they were engaged. From a Leonardo she
had become a living woman, with mysteries and forces of her own,
with qualities that even eluded art. His brain recovered from the
shock, and, in a burst of genuine devotion, he cried: "But I love
you, and I did think you loved me!"
"I did not," she said. "I thought I did at first.
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