"Tell me, Tilly: why do you refuse?"
She shrugged her shoulders:
"I don't know," she said.
"You love me, surely?"
"I love you, I dote on you, I'm mad on you! . . . Let us stay here and . . . and . . . love me a little."
"But, Tilly, I do love you. You know I love you!"
He kissed her, very tenderly; and she accepted his kisses, with her eyes closed, and lay limply, as though tired, in his arms. Suddenly she thrust him away:
"Let me be," she said, rising to her feet.
"Tilly. . . ."
"Let me be . . . stop kissing me."
"Why mayn't I kiss you? . . ."
"I don't want you to."
"And you say you love me!"
"Yes, but . . . don't kiss me any more."
He looked at her in perplexity; and she said:
"It's not only kissing. . . ."
"Tilly!" he said, stretching out his arms.
"Whatever it is, we shall find it for each other . . . with each other. . . ."
"Yes. . . ."
"You think so, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You believe it? When we are at the Hague . . . alone . . . in our own home?"
"Yes, yes, I believe it."
"And will you then be happy?"
"Yes . . . when we have found it."
"And we shall find it."
"Yes."
"Come and sit with me, in my study. . . . I have work to do: come and sit with me. I sha'n't
