She was afraid of herself, however; whereas, to his gain of lucidity, he was afraid only of her.

Would she throw herself into his arms, or would she be otherwise wonderful?
She would see what he would do--so their queer minute without words told him; and she would act accordingly.

But what could he do but just let her see that he would make anything, everything, for her, as honourably easy as possible?
Even if she should throw herself into his arms he would make that easy--easy, that is, to overlook, to ignore, not to remember, and not, by the same token, either, to regret.

This was not what in fact happened, though it was also not at a single touch, but by the finest gradations, that his tension subsided.

"It's too delightful to be back!" she said at last; and it was all she definitely gave him--being moreover nothing but what anyone else might have said.