"Don't you understand me?

"Don't you understand me?
He but continued to stare, and she met his blankness with surprise.
From *me* it has the weight."
And then as her now quite sombre gravity only made him stare: "To start you it *was* necessary.
"I'm the most honest woman in the world, but I've nevertheless done for you what was necessary."
"I see how far you're going."
He felt himself red and as if his honour were colouring up; but he laughed again as he could.
But you don't know," she added, "how far I've gone for you."
"Yes, my inviting you to-night's a part of it.
Your inviting me for instance to-night—!"
"Of course I know I owe you thanks for a deal of kind treatment.
But that wasn't what he asked aloud.
What then in this light did Kate believe him?
Her truth, for that matter, was that she believed him bribeable: a belief that for his own mind as well, while they stood there, lighted up the impossible.
Distinct he felt her pressure; he felt, given her basis, her consistency; he even felt, to a degree that was immediately to receive an odd confirmation, her truth.
And you owe me something—if you want to know why."
Mind you, moreover"—she kept it up—"I'm not one who talks in the air.
"I don't say it does—but there's no reason it shouldn't to *you*.
She wasn't abashed.
"Of what doesn't belong to me?"