difficult to describe. I endured it like a pain that could only
be assuaged by her presence, but I endured it angrily. We were
walking on the sunset road - very deserted and quiet at the time.
The place was propitious if nothing else was.

She looked at me in transparent astonishment;

"Mr. Clifden, are you dreaming? You can't mean what you say."

"Why can't I? I do. I want you. You have the key of all I care
for. I think of the world without you and find it tasteless."

"Surely you have all the world can give? What do you want more?"

"The power to enjoy it - to understand it. You have got that - I
haven't. I want you always with me to interpret, like a guide to
a blind fellow. I am no better."

"Say like a dog, at once!" she interrupted. "At least you are
frank enough to put it on that ground. You have not said you love
me. You could not say it."

"I don't know whether I do or not. I know nothing about love. I
want you. Indescribably. Perhaps that is love - is it? I never
wanted any one before. I have tried to get away and I can't."

I was brutally frank, you see. She compelled my very thoughts.

"Why have you tried?"