She could see it by the new misery on his moonlit face, as she sat beside him.

Yet she sat there in silence; there was so little that she could say.
"Do you know, you've changed, Frank, these last few months!" he at last essayed.
"Haven't there been reasons enough for it ?" she asked, making no effort to conceal the bitterness of her tone.
"You're not happy, are you ?" "Are _you_ ?" she asked, in turn.
"Who can be happy, and think ?" She waited, passively, for him to go on again.
"You said you didn't much care what happened, so long as it kept us together, and left us satisfied." "Isn't that enough ?" she broke in, hotly, yet thrilling with the thought that he was about to tear away the mockery behind which she had tried to mask herself.
"No, it isn't enough! And now we're out of the dust of it, these last few days, I can see that it never can be enough.

I've just been wondering where it leads to, and what it amounts to.

I've had a feeling, for days, now, that there's something between us.

What is it ?" "Ourselves!" she answered, at last.
"Exactly! And that is what makes me think you're wrong when you cry that you'll stoop every time I stoop.