"Yes."
"And what did you think the interpretation was then?"
"Yes, it was you—you, David. It was love—and hope—and gladness—everything, everything—"
"Go on."
"Everything good and beautiful—but—sometimes it comes again—"
"What comes?"
"Play, David, play. I'll tell you another time in another place, not here. No, no."
So he played for her until the dusk deepened around and below them, and they had to make their way back stumblingly. When they came to the wild, untrodden bank of the little river, David resigned the choosing of their path entirely to her and followed close, holding her hand where she led. When at last they reached their cabin, they did not light candles, but sat long in the doorway conversing on the deep things of their souls.
It still seemed to David as if she held something back from him, and now he begged her for a more perfect self-revealing.