Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. .
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