to come, I should, naturally, have been immensely 'sold.' I had to take the risk. Well, you're all I could have hoped. That's what I was to have said. I didn't want simply to get my time with you, but I wanted you to know. I wanted you"--she kept it up, slowly, softly, with a small tremor of voice, but without the least failure of sense or sequence--"I wanted you to understand. I wanted you, that is, to hear. I don't care, I think, whether you understand or not. If I ask nothing of you I don't--I mayn't--ask even so much as that. What you may think of me--that doesn't in the least matter. What I want is that it shall always be with you--so that you'll never be able quite to get rid of it--that I DID. I won't say that you did--you may make as little of that as you like. But that I was here with you where we are and as we are--I just saying this. Giving myself, in other words, away--and perfectly willing to do it for nothing. That's all."
She paused as if her demonstration was complete--yet, for the moment, without moving; as if in fact to give it a few minutes to sink in; into the listening air, into the watching space, into the conscious hospitality of nature, so far as nature was, all Londonised, all vulgarised, with them there; or even, for that matter, into her own open ears, rather than into the attention of her passive and prudent friend. His attention had done all that attention could do; his handsome, slightly anxious, yet still more definitely "amused" face sufficiently played its part. He clutched, however, at what he could best clutch at--the fact that she let him off, definitely let him off. She let him off, it seemed, even from so much as answering; so that while he smiled back at her in return for her information he felt his lips remain closed to the successive vaguenesses of rejoinder, of objection, that rose for him from within. Charlotte herself spoke again at last--"You may want to know what I get by it. But that's my own affair." He really didn't want to know even this--or continued, for the safest plan, quite to behave as if he didn't; which prolonged the mere dumbness of diversion in which he had taken refuge. He was glad when, finally--the point she had wished to make seeming established to her satisfaction--they brought to what might pass for a close the moment of his life at which he had had least to say. Movement and progress, after this,
