Instead, she felt her face hard, the little
muscles of her mouth twitching insubordinate, and fancied that her
self-consciousness made her eyes dishonest.
"What I mean," said Lewisham, "is--that this will go on. We're always
going to be friends, side by side."
"Always. Just as I am able to help you--I will help you. However I can
help you, I will."
"We two," said Lewisham, gripping her hand.
Her face lit. Her eyes were for a moment touched with the beauty of
simple emotion. "We two," she said, and her lips trembled and her
throat seemed to swell. She snatched her hand back suddenly and turned
her face away. Abruptly she walked towards the end of the gallery, and
he saw her fumbling for her handkerchief in the folds of the green and
black dress.
She was going to cry!
It set Lewisham marvelling--this totally inappropriate emotion.
He followed her and stood by her. Why cry? He hoped no one would come
into the little gallery until her handkerchief was put away.
Nevertheless he felt vaguely flattered. She controlled herself, dashed
her tears away, and smiled bravely at him with reddened eyes. "I'm
sorry," she said, gulping.
"I am so glad," she explained.
"But we will fight together. We two. I _can_ help you. I know I can
help you.
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