He had impressed her,
from a child, with his aloofness, and she had been proud of kissing him
because he never seemed to let anybody else do so. Those caresses, no
doubt, had the savour of conquest; his face had been the undiscovered
land for her lips. She loved him as one loves that which ministers to
one's pride; had for him, too, a touch of motherly protection, as for
a doll that does not get on too well with the other dolls; and withal a
little unaccustomed awe.
Dared she now plunge in on this private agony? Could she have borne that
anyone should see herself thus prostrate? He had not heard her, and she
tried to regain the door. But a board creaked; she heard him move, and
flinging away her fears, said: "It's me! Babs!" and dropped on her knees
beside him. If it had not been so pitch dark she could never have done
that. She tried at once to take his head into her arms, but could
not see it, and succeeded indifferently. She could but stroke his arm
continually, wondering whether he would hate her ever afterwards, and
blessing the darkness, which made it all seem as though it were not
happening, yet so much more poignant than if it had happened. Suddenly
she felt him slip away from her, and getting up, stole out. After the
darkness of that room, the corridor seemed full of grey filmy light, as
though dream-spiders had joined the walls with their cobwebs, in which
innumerable white moths, so tiny that they could not be seen, were
struggling.
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