THE SACRED FOUNT
"Well, that was only," she maintained, "because you talked me over."
I let her see the full process of my taking—or not taking—this in. "And who is it then that—if, as you say, you've spoken to no one—has, as I may call it, talked you under?"
She completed, on the spot, her statement of a moment before. "Not a creature has spoken to me."
I felt somehow the wish to make her say it in as many ways as possible—I seemed so to enjoy her saying it. This helped me to make my tone approve and encourage. "You've communicated so little with anyone!" I didn't even make it a question.
It was scarce yet, however, quite good enough. "So little? I've not communicated the least mite."
"Precisely. But don't think me impertinent for having for a moment wondered. What I should say to you if you had, you know, would be that you just accused me."
"Accused you?"
"Of talking too much."
It came back to her dim. "Are we accusing each other?"
Her tone seemed suddenly to put us nearer together than we had ever been at all. "Dear no," I laughed—"not each other; only with each other's help, a few of our good friends."
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