Was he still the same, quite the same? She, whom love had made a child
of, asked it fearfully, as if to gaze upon him openly just at first
might be blinding; and he pretended not to understand. "The same as
what, Grizel?"

"Are you still--what I think you?"

"Ah, Grizel, not at all what you think me."

"But you do?"

"Coward! You are afraid to say the word. But I do!"

"You don't ask whether I do!"

"No."

"Why? Is it because you are so sure of me?"

He nodded, and she said it was cruel of him.

"You don't mean that, Grizel."

"Don't I?" She was delighted that he knew it.

"No; you mean that you like me to be sure of it."

"But I want to be sure of it myself." "You are. That was why you
asked me if I loved you. Had you not been sure of it you would not