I let him kiss me, but I remembered, as I had remembered the day before, that the last kiss she had given, as I supposed, in this world had been for the lips he touched.
"I'm life, you see," I answered. "What you saw last night was death."
"It was life—it was life!"
He spoke with a kind of soft stubbornness, and I disengaged myself. We stood looking at each other hard.
"You describe the scene—so far as you describe it at all—in terms that are incomprehensible. She was in the room before you knew it?"
"I looked up from my letter-writing—at that table under the lamp, I had been wholly absorbed in it—and she stood before me."
"Then what did you do?"
"I sprang up with an ejaculation, and she, with a smile, laid her finger, ever so warningly, yet with a sort of delicate dignity, to her lips. I knew it meant silence, but the strange thing was that it seemed immediately to explain and to justify her. We, at any rate, stood for a time that, as I've told you, I can't calculate, face to face. It was just as you and I stand now."
"Simply staring?"
