"I didn't guess; I knew." And he held her hand nervously.

She looked younger and sweeter than ever in her blue silk dressing
gown and shorter in her heelless slippers. What a kid she was, after
all, he thought.

"How amazing!" she said. "I wonder how?"

He shook his head. "I dunno--just as I did the first time, when I
tore through the woods and found you on the hill."

"Isn't that wonderful! Do you suppose I shall always be able to get
you when I want you very much?"

"Yes, always."

"Why?"

She had gone back into the dressing room. The light was on her face.
Her usual expression of elfish impertinence was not there. She was
the girl of the stolen meetings once more, the girl whose eyes
reflected the open beauty of what Martin had called the big
cathedral. For all that, she was the girl who had hurt him to the
soul, shown him her door, played that trick upon him at the Ritz and
sent him adrift full of the spirit of "Who cares?" which was her
fetish. It was in his heart to say: "Because I adore you! Because I
am so much yours that you have only to think my name for me to hear
it across the world as if you had shouted it through a giant
megaphone! Because whatever I do and whatever you do, I shall love
you!" But she had hurt him twice. She had cut him to the very core.