“It’s gone.”

“Friendship and love being separate things.  And that confounded engagement!”

“Gone!”

They came upon a platform, and stood before her compartment.

He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere.

“I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend.  I had never dreamed of such a friend as you.”

She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes.  Hadn’t they settled that already?

“I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.

Part 5

The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her.

“Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her.

“I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered.

“Well?”

“I don’t care a rap for all these things.”

He said nothing for a space.

“I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly.  “So far you’ve got me and I you....  You’ve got me.  I’m like a creature just wakened up.  My eyes are open to you.  I keep on thinking of you.  I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead.  I believe I have always been in love with you.  Always.  Before ever I knew you.”

She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more.  She began to tremble violently.

He stood up abruptly and went to the window.

“We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends.”

She stood up and held her arms toward him.  “I want you to kiss me,” she said.

He gripped the window-sill behind him.

“If I do,” he said....  “No!  I want to do without that.  I want to do without that for a time.  I want to give you time to think.  I am a man—­of a sort of experience.  You are a girl with very little.  Just sit down on that stool again and let’s talk of this in cold blood.  People of your sort—­I don’t want the instincts to—­to rush our situation.  Are you sure what it is you want of me?”

“I want you.  I want you to be my lover.  I want to give myself to you.  I want to be whatever I can to you.”  She paused for a moment.  “Is that plain?” she asked.

“If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you.

“I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on.  “You do not know what such a relation means.  We are in love.  Our heads swim with the thought of being together.  But what can we do?  Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home.  It means... just furtive meetings.”