To take that risk, knowing one way or another, rather than blindly groping to the end, this was typical of him.

But he could not force her to the answer that he sought for.
"Do you think I ought to ?" she asked.
He drummed his fingers on the table and looked through her.
"Why do you ask me ?" "I'm sorry." She returned sensitively to the food that was before her--"I thought you had seemed interested.

I'm sorry--I took too much for granted." He knew the danger of all this--so did she.

But danger of what?
That dancing upon the edge of the precipice of emotion is in the normal heart of every woman--and he?
He sought it out; to the edge he had brought her, knowing the way--every step of it.

She had only followed blindly where he had led.