He'd had a reason for asking, because he was still trying to determine the depths of the feelings he'd had for her. If she'd had explanations for these things, if she had asked for them or they'd shopped for them together or they were the accumulated gifts of several years of courtship that she had later returned, it would have been one thing. The fact that she didn't recognize them meant that he'd spent a good deal of time and effort while she wasn't around thinking about her and acquiring gifts for her — looking ahead to their future together, planning it out, hoping. So the distinction here was an important data point for him, and that was why he'd brought these things down and why he'd asked. He had failed to consider how she might be affected by them, though. He'd been watching her so carefully because he had expected that any emotion she displayed would be a short flicker before she masked it with composure — he had not expected her to cry.
His mouth fell open slightly as he tried to figure out how to react. He was locked in his parlor with a crying woman who was, for all practical purposes, a stranger. He didn't know how to comfort her, but he could hardly expect anyone or anything else to step in and do it for him. He moved the items he'd produced over to the edge of the table, sheepish, as though having them less in the way would make any tangible difference. He ought to say something, but a long moment stretched where he failed to come up with anything to say.
"You're still in love with me," he said eventually — not a question but an observation. From the way she'd talked the night before to her reaction now, it seemed apparent. Even her coldness in the initial interactions could have been evidence in support of this conclusion. "Did I know that?"
His mouth fell open slightly as he tried to figure out how to react. He was locked in his parlor with a crying woman who was, for all practical purposes, a stranger. He didn't know how to comfort her, but he could hardly expect anyone or anything else to step in and do it for him. He moved the items he'd produced over to the edge of the table, sheepish, as though having them less in the way would make any tangible difference. He ought to say something, but a long moment stretched where he failed to come up with anything to say.
"You're still in love with me," he said eventually — not a question but an observation. From the way she'd talked the night before to her reaction now, it seemed apparent. Even her coldness in the initial interactions could have been evidence in support of this conclusion. "Did I know that?"
![[Image: 5WWaDR1.png]](https://i.imgur.com/5WWaDR1.png)