conscious of the strange sound of this: "Nobody, I mean, to fear."
Paul was silent a moment. "What in the world is it you fear?"
"In the sense of the awful things—you know? Here on the spot nothing. About those things I'm quite quiet. There may be plenty to come; but what I'm afraid of now is my safety. There's something in that———!" She broke down; there was more in it than she could say.
"Are you so sure of your safety?"
"You see how sure. It's in your face," said Rose. "And your face—for what it says—is terrible."
Whatever it said remained there as Paul looked at her. "Is it as terrible as yours?" he asked.
"Oh, mine—mine must be hideous; unutterably hideous forever! Yours is beautiful. Everything, every one here is beautiful."
"I don't understand you," said Paul.
"How should you? It isn't to ask you to do that that I've come to you."
He waited in his woful wonder. "For what have you come?"
