not of that so much that I wanted to say a word. I thought perhaps you'd just let me touch on your own." Tony hesitated; he felt vaguely disconcerted by the special quality of stillness that, though she moved beside him, her attention, her expectation put forth. It came over him that for the purpose of his plea she was almost too prepared, and this made him speculate. He stopped short again and, uneasily, "May I light one more cigarette?" he asked. She assented with a flicker in her dim smile, and while he lighted he was increasingly conscious that she waited. He met the deep gentleness of her eyes and reflected afresh that if she was always beautiful she was beautiful at different times from different sources. What was the source of the impression she made on him at this moment if not a kind of refinement of patience, in which she seemed actually to hold her breath? "In fact," he said as he threw away his match, "I have touched on it—I mean on the great hope we all have that you do see your way to meeting your friend as he deserves."
"You 'all' have it?" Jean softly asked.
Tony hesitated again. "I'm sure I'm quite right
