"You don't care for me."
"Not in that way. Why shouldn't we be friends?"
"That's nonsense. Friendship between a man and a woman? That's one of those notions which you picked up, I dare say, at Driebergen, among neurotic people. Between a man and a woman there's only . . . yearning. I want you and I am in hell because I haven't got you."
"Yes, it's always . . . that," she said; and she thought of Addie.
"Oh, if you would only go with me . . . out of this."
"Would that make me happy?"
"I should live for you entirely. I have a little money . . ."
"That would make me happy, would it? To leave my husband, to leave my children?"
"Your husband, your children? But I should be there!"
"Yes, but . . ."
"You don't care for me."
"Not like that."
"All the same, you would become happy. . . . You never found happiness in your husband—you say so yourself—because you don't understand him. You would understand me."
She began to cry again:
"Oh," she said, "don't go on talking like that!"
"Do you care for me, Tilly, do you care for me?"
"Yes, Johan, I do care for you."
"Well?"
She stood still:
"Listen," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "I care for you." Her voice sounded loving in spite of herself. "I care for you . . . very
