What about her creed, then?
Was she hiding behind youthfulness?
Were there, after all, certain things that must be paid for?
Was she already old enough to be what Alice and this man called honest?
Was every man made of the stuff that only gave for what he hoped to get in return?
His words trailed off.

He was wasting them, he saw.

She was looking through his head.

But he rejoiced as to one thing like a potter who opens the door of his oven and finds his masterpiece unbroken.

And silence fell upon them, interrupted only by the intermittent humming of passing cars.
Finally Palgrave took the cigarette box out of Joan's hand and put it down on a little table and stood looking more of a man than might have been expected.
"I've always hoped that one day I should meet you--just you," he said quietly; "and when I did, I knew that it would be to love.