And she confessed, "I have dreamed . . . and thought . . . too late. I . . . I have begun to live too late . . ."
"I," he said, "I thought . . . that I had lived; but I have done nothing . . . but seek . . ."
"You never found?"
"Perhaps . . . almost. But, when I had found . . . I was not allowed to put out my hand . . ."
"Because . . . of the past?" she asked, softly.
"And of the present. Because of what is and has younger, fresher rights than mine . . . which are no rights . . . but the forbidden illusions of an old man . . ."
"Not old . . ."
"Older every day. He alone is in the prime of life . . . who has found . . . or thinks that he has found . . ."
"Yes, that is so," she said; and her voice sounded like a wail. "I have begun to live too late. I could have lived . . . even now . . . perhaps; but it is all too late. I once told you . . . that I was abdicating my youth . . ."
"Once, months ago . . ."
"Since then, I have thought, dreamt, lived too much . . . not to feel young . . . for a few moments . . . But it was all an illusion . . . and it is all too late . . ."
They looked at each other. He bowed his head,
