They sat holding hands, he looking at her admiringly, she feeling mildly pleased that such a dear, handsome boy should be so fond of her. In the minds of both was another sensation, which they did not recognise, or, at all events, would not admit to themselves. They both, especially Cyril, counted the minutes to these tête-à-têtes, and immediately afterwards looked back on them with regret, feeling they had missed something. They wrote to each other frequent, short, but intensely affectionate letters about the happiness these interviews had given them. Yet, while they actually lasted, both Cyril and Daphne, had they only known it, were really rather bored. The next day, or the same evening, Cyril would write to her:—
"My own Darling,—How jolly it was having you a little to myself to-day! And to think that you really care for me!" and so on.
And she would enjoy writing back:—
"Dearest,—Didn't we have a heavenly time in the garden yesterday?" and so forth.
As a matter of fact, they had not had a heavenly time at all; when he kissed her, which he sometimes did, she did not really like it, though she knew she ought, and it gave her a sort of mental gratification to think that he had given this manifestation of love, as she knew it was considered the right thing.
He did not really regard her as a woman at all, but more as a lovely doll, or sweet companion, and it pleased his vanity immensely to think he should be allowed this privilege, which at the same time seemed to him a little unnecessary, and even derogatory to her, though he enjoyed it very much too, in a somewhat uncomfortable way.
The fact that their engagement was so indefinite, that they had hardly any hope of being married for at least two years, perhaps added a little to the gêne of these meetings. The instant they were separated he began to long to see her alone again. Daphne felt sure she must be really in love because she took comparatively little interest in anything that was not more or less connected with the idea of Cyril. Perhaps she enjoyed the things she associated with him more than his actual presence. Talking about him to Valentia, or hearing about him from his mother, seemed more amusing and exciting than sitting with him alone and holding his hand. She would have liked best never to see him except in evening dress at a party, only to hear about him or think about him all day.
Cyril was sure that his feeling was real love, because he did not care two straws how hard up they should be when they were married, and because if he heard any one sing a sentimental song, however badly, he immediately thought of her with the greatest tenderness. He believed he missed her every moment of the day, and he took great trouble to see her, especially when there was a chance of their being alone. But, as a matter of fact, he was rather glad when Mrs. Foster came out into the garden; and when he had seen Daphne off at the station, although it was a pang to see her go away without him, it was perhaps also a slight relief.
When Val came to meet her at the station, full of news about the extraordinary number of exciting things that had happened in the day, and they dashed back to dress for a dinner Harry was giving before going to a dance, Daphne felt a tinge of sentiment and regret for the idyllic happiness in the garden, and began to count the hours until they should meet alone again. The glamour always returned an hour or so after they had been separated.