100 The Light That Failed twenty little ripples broke on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. “Dick,” she said slowly, “I believe very much that you are better than I am.” “This doesn’t seem to bear on the argument — but in what way?” “I don’t quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and then you’re so patient. Yes, you're better than I am.” Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man’s life. There was nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted the hem of the cloak to his lips. “Why,” said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, “can you see things that I can’t? I don’t believe what you believe; but you’re right, I believe.” “If I’ve seen anything, God knows I couldn’t have seen it but for you, and I know that I couldn’t have said it except to you. You seemed to make everything clear for a minute; but I don’t practice what I preach. You would help me. ... There are only us two in the world for all purposes, and — and you like to have me with you?” “Of course I do. I wonder if you can realize how utterly lonely I am!” “Darling, I think I can.” “Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up and down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?” “It’s some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?” “I don’t know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it frightened me — oh, how it frightened me!” “T know that fear. It’s the most terrible of all. It wakes