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“
Don
’
t
you
know
,
”
she
continued
,
“
the
bliss
of
waking
from
a
bad
dream
in
one
’
s
own
quiet
room
,
and
going
slowly
over
all
the
horror
without
being
afraid
of
it
any
more
?
That
’
s
what
I
’
m
doing
now
.
And
that
’
s
why
I
understand
Owen
.
.
.
”
She
broke
off
,
and
he
felt
her
touch
on
his
arm
.
“
Because
I
’
d
dreamed
the
horror
too
!
”
He
understood
her
then
,
and
stammered
:
“
You
?
”
“
Forgive
me
!
And
let
me
tell
you
!
.
.
.
It
will
help
you
to
understand
Owen
.
.
.
.
There
were
little
things
.
.
.
little
signs
.
.
.
once
I
had
begun
to
watch
for
them
:
your
reluctance
to
speak
about
her
.
.
.
her
reserve
with
you
.
.
.
a
sort
of
constraint
we
’
d
never
seen
in
her
before
.
.
.
”
She
laughed
up
at
him
,
and
with
her
hands
in
his
he
contrived
to
say
:
“
Now
you
understand
why
?
”
“
Oh
,
I
understand
;
of
course
I
understand
;
and
I
want
you
to
laugh
at
me
—
with
me
!
Because
there
were
other
things
too
.
.
.
crazier
things
still
.
.
.
.
There
was
even
—
last
night
on
the
terrace
—
her
pink
cloak
.
.
.
”
“
Her
pink
cloak
?
”
Now
he
honestly
wondered
,
and
as
she
saw
it
she
blushed
.
“
You
’
ve
forgotten
about
the
cloak
?
The
pink
cloak
that
Owen
saw
you
with
at
the
play
in
Paris
?
Yes
.
.
.
yes
.
.
.
.
I
was
mad
enough
for
that
!
.
.
.
It
does
me
good
to
laugh
about
it
now
!
But
you
ought
to
know
that
I
’
m
going
to
be
a
jealous
woman
.
.
.
a
ridiculously
jealous
woman
.
.
.
you
ought
to
be
warned
of
it
in
time
.
.
.
”
He
had
dropped
her
hands
,
and
she
leaned
close
and
lifted
her
arms
to
his
neck
with
one
of
her
rare
gestures
of
surrender
.
“
I
don
’
t
know
why
it
is
;
but
it
makes
me
happier
now
to
have
been
so
foolish
!
”
