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Chapter 19

           "Youwon’tfinishthatstockingtonight,"hesaid,pointingtoherstocking.Thatwaswhatshewanted—theasperityinhisvoicereprovingher.Ifhesaysit’swrongtobepessimisticprobablyitiswrong,shethought;themarriagewillturnoutallright.

           "No,"shesaid,flatteningthestockingoutuponherknee,"Ishan’tfinishit."

           Andwhatthen?Forshefeltthathewasstilllookingather,butthathislookhadchanged.Hewantedsomething—wantedthethingshealwaysfounditsodifficulttogivehim;wantedhertotellhimthatshelovedhim.Andthat,no,shecouldnotdo.Hefoundtalkingsomucheasierthanshedid.Hecouldsaythings—shenevercould.Sonaturallyitwasalwayshethatsaidthethings,andthenforsomereasonhewouldmindthissuddenly,andwouldreproachher.Aheartlesswomanhecalledher;shenevertoldhimthatshelovedhim.Butitwasnotso—itwasnotso.Itwasonlythatshenevercouldsaywhatshefelt.Wastherenocrumbonhiscoat?Nothingshecoulddoforhim?Gettingup,shestoodatthewindowwiththereddish-brownstockinginherhands,partlytoturnawayfromhim,partlybecausesherememberedhowbeautifulitoftenis—theseaatnight.Butsheknewthathehadturnedhisheadassheturned;hewaswatchingher.Sheknewthathewasthinking,Youaremorebeautifulthanever.Andshefeltherselfverybeautiful

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