Piet, I--I didn't know you really loved me." "I have always loved you, Anne," he said, in his deep, slow voice.
"And you--forgive me," she said faintly.
"I have forgiven you," he answered gravely.
She made a slight, shy movement, and he took his hand from her head.

But in an instant impulsively she caught at it, drawing it down against her burning face.
"And you are not angry with me any more ?" she murmured.
"No," he said again.
She was silent for a space, not moving, still tightly holding his hand.
He could not see her face, nor did he seek to do so.

Perhaps he feared to scare away her new-found courage.
At length, in a very small voice, she broke the silence.
"Piet!" He leaned forward.
"What is it, Anne ?" He could feel her breath quick and short upon his hand.

She seemed to be making a supreme effort.
"Piet!" she said again.
"I am listening," he responded, with absolute patience.
She turned one cheek slightly towards him.
"If I loved anybody," she said, rather incoherently, "I--I'd find some way of letting them know it." He leaned his head once more upon his hand.
"I am a rough beast, Anne," he said sadly.

"My love-making only hurts you." Nan was silent again for a little, but she still held fast to his hand.
"Were you," she asked hesitatingly at length, "were you--making love to me--that night ?" "After my own savage fashion," he said.
"Well," she said, a slight quiver in her voice, "it didn't hurt me, Piet." Piet was silent.
"I mean," she said, gathering courage, "if--if I had known that it meant just that, I--well, I shouldn't have minded so much." Still Piet was silent.