"Are you glad I love you?" she murmured.

"Of course."

"There is an intelligent woman," he thought, "who has had hundreds of
men in love with her, making a demand for verbal assurances that can't
possibly add anything to her peace of mind. Either they are true and
superfluous, or they are false and transparently unconvincing."

"Bill," she said, reading his thoughts, "you can't understand my wanting
mere words, can you?"

"No," he said, "not you, who know so exactly what they mean."

"Nevertheless, they are sometimes vaguely comforting and reassuring--a
sort of local anæsthetic." He loved her insight, her curious layers of
detachment.

"Bill," she murmured, "I haven't seen you for ages."

"Not since two this morning."

"I don't count a ball; besides I was too tired to stop dancing."

"You danced like an angel and your eyes were shining with ecstasy,
lighting hopes all round, though of course I knew you didn't know your
partner from the parquet--if he happened to be as good as the floor."

"You love watching me, don't you? much better than seeing me." How he