But she went on resolutely: "I heard
of it in England, that it was worth a lot of money--and I wanted
money--so I came here; I meant to get a bulb and sell it."
"You meant to?" he said slowly; "but you haven't--you couldn't?"
"I could, six times over if I liked."
"But you have not."
"No. I was a fool, and you were--Oh, I can't explain; you would never
understand, and it does not matter. The thing that matters is that I
came here to get your blue daffodil."
"You must have needed money very greatly," he said in a puzzled,
pitying voice.
"I did, I wanted it desperately, but that does not matter either--I
came here to steal; I go away because I am found out to have deceived
and to have behaved improperly--I want you to understand that."
"I do not understand," he answered; "I understand nothing but that you
are you, and--and I love you."
"You don't!" she cried in sharp protest. "You do not, and you cannot!
You think you love what you think I am. But I am not that; it is all
quite different; when you, know, when you realise, you will see it."
"I realise now," he answered; "it is still the light, only sometimes
dim."
"Dim!" she repeated, "it has gone out!"
"And if it has, what then? If you are all you say you are, and all
they say you are, and many worse things besides, what then? It makes
no difference.
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