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Rh "Tell me, Tilly: why do you refuse?"

She shrugged her shoulders:

"I don't know," she said.

"You love me, surely?"

"I love you, I dote on you, I'm mad on you! . . . Let us stay here and . . . and . . . love me a little."

"But, Tilly, I do love you. You know I love you!"

He kissed her, very tenderly; and she accepted his kisses, with her eyes closed, and lay limply, as though tired, in his arms. Suddenly she thrust him away:

"Let me be," she said, rising to her feet.

"Tilly. . . ."

"Let me be . . . stop kissing me."

"Why mayn't I kiss you? . . ."

"I don't want you to."

"And you say you love me!"

"Yes, but . . . don't kiss me any more."

He looked at her in perplexity; and she said:

"It's not only kissing. . . ."

"Tilly!" he said, stretching out his arms.

"Whatever it is, we shall find it for each other . . . with each other. . . ."

"Yes. . . ."

"You think so, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You believe it? When we are at the Hague . . . alone . . . in our own home?"

"Yes, yes, I believe it."

"And will you then be happy?"

"Yes . . . when we have found it."

"And we shall find it."

"Yes."

"Come and sit with me, in my study. . . . I have work to do: come and sit with me. I sha'n't