Perhaps a memory of other years, when his pulse had quickened and his voice had trembled oddly, just touched his heart now and it responded with a faint thrill.
For a moment at least he forgot his sordid plan, and Beatrice's own personal attraction was upon him.
And she was very lovely as she sat there, looking down at him, with white folded hands, hatless in the warm night, her eyes full of the dancing rays that trembled upon the softly rippling water.
"If they are not bad things," she said, speaking again, "why do you not tell them to me ?" "You would laugh." "I have laughed enough to-night.

Tell me!" "Tell you! Yes--that is easy to do.

But it would be so hard to make you understand! It is the difference between a word and a thought, between belief and mere show, between truth and hearsay--more than that--much more than I can tell you.

It means so much to me--it may mean so little to you, when I have said it!" "But if you do not say it, how can I guess it, or try to understand it ?" "Would you try?
Would you ?" "Yes." Her voice was soft, gentle, persuasive.

She felt something she had never felt, and it must be love, she thought.