In spite of his mysteries or aloofness, he was an honest man, more honest than most; he always had been. Sometimes, without her being prepared for it in the least, he struck straight at the heart of the matter with a statement utterly disarming in its candor—a statement, indeed, which might have been the climax of an hour’s discussion instead of (as it seemed) a single isolated thought, almost an irrelevant one. Apropos of nothing that had been mentioned before, he recently said: “Darling, if I forget, why don’t you come to me? I get busy or tired, I work too late, it’s my fault entirely; please believe me, all I need is to be reminded, occasionally. You know I want you.” Though casual enough, this little one-­sided conversation had been unprecedented in its boldness, in its revelation of his own turmoil, and in its truth for them both; and it remained one-­sided for the simple reason that it had said everything, leaving nothing whatever for her to say. She found herself completely at a loss for words; she was genuinely touched, so much so that her heart went out in pity for him far more than for herself. The simplicity and honest appeal of the revelation barely allowed her, at the time, to register its true meaning. Only later did she fully realize what he had so plainly said: it could be up to her as much as to him. But out of some unshakable pride she couldn’t have done it, regardless of how many nights, sleepless, she had waited for him. She had to know she was wanted for herself, not because he thought he ought to want her; she couldn’t bear the feeling (oh, shameful!) that he might be going to bed with her just to be nice. All the strictures of her virgin days would have come back had she thought so, and more than ever she would have become a woman unloved and cold.

It was long past time to eat; she unwrapped the sandwiches. Assuming an expression in which nothing could have been misconstrued, she said to the boy opposite to her: “Wouldn’t you like some of this?” He pulled his feet down from the seat, sat up, and leaned forward with a grin of anticipation. “Okay if you can spare it, lady.” “Certainly. Wake up your friend, maybe he’d like some too.” “Nah,” the boy said, slapping the air with a downward gesture of the hand, “leave him lay. He’s full of booze anyways.” The private was getting off at Middleboro and expected to eat there, so she and the young sailor ate alone. In spite of his smiles and grins, she did not converse with him further.