I am, but not in the way you think," she was sharp with insistence; "that is what you and mother always say, that I'm nervous or excited, and all the time you don't _see_." "What is it I don't see, Eunice ?" "That I can't stand it, that I can't go on with it, that it is dreadful to me,--_dreadful!_" "What is dreadful ?" "Everything, being engaged--being married and giving up...." It was fairly racked out of her by some inward torture to which he had not the key.
"Of course, Eunice, if you don't wish to be married so soon----" Peter was all at sea.

He brought a chair for her, and perceiving that he would go on standing as long as she did, she sat upon the edge of it but kept both the arms as a measure of defence.

The slight act of doing something for her restored him for the moment to reality; he bent over her.

"I've never wanted to hurry you, dearest---- It shall be when you say." She put up her hands suddenly with a shivering movement.
"Oh, never, never at all; never to you!" Peter could feel that working its track of desolation inward, but the first instinctive movement of his surface was to close over the wound.
He took it as he knew he could only take it: as the explosive crisis of the virginal resistance which he remembered he had heard came to girls when marriage loomed upon them.

He took a turn down the room to steady himself, praying dumbly for the right word.
"It isn't as if I didn't respect you"-- she was eager in explanation, hurried and stumbling--"as if I didn't know how good you are ...