anything, and I could feel her breath brush my face.
"Do you know," I said, "that . . . but, now, you mustn't get angry—when I went to bed last night I settled this arm for you . . . so . . . as if you lay on it . . . and then I went to sleep."
"Did you? That was lovely!" A pause. "But of course it could only be from a distance that you would venture to do such a thing, for otherwise . . ."
"Don't you believe I could do it otherwise?"
"No, I don't believe it."
"Ah, from me you may expect everything," I said, and I put my arm around her waist.
"Can I?" was all she said.
It annoyed me, almost wounded me, that she should look upon me as being so utterly inoffensive. I braced myself up, steeled my heart, and seized her hand; but she withdrew it softly, and moved a little away from me. That just put an end to my courage again; I felt ashamed, and looked out through the window. I was, in spite of all, in far too wretched a condition; I must, above all, not try to imagine myself anyone in particular. It would have been another matter if I had met