Somehow she could not make her voice quite so prosaic as she wished, for a strange joy was fluttering at her heart.
"Yes—I'll write it down in my pocket-book." After doing which, Cyril said in disappointed accents, "Not one word!"
"I thought you were not asking for a word. You inconsistent boy!" said Jean calmly. She lifted her eyes, dropped hitherto; and there was in them the old golden shining, once reserved for Oswald.
It was too much for Cyril's complete self-control. He made a hasty motion, an impulsive start forward, as if to clasp her in his arms; but Jean as quickly eluded him, stepping back.
"No! No! Nothing of that sort," she said in an odd restrained voice. "No nonsense, please. I shall not see you again till just at last—and then not alone. We are only friends still, just as we always have been. Both perfectly free. You understand? If I choose to marry meantime—Or if you choose to bring home a nice little Colonial wife—"
"Jean, if you say another word—"
"Then—good-bye!" And she vanished.
BOOK IV.
THE UPSHOT OF IT ALL.
"Yet in one respect,
Just one, beloved, I am in nowise changed;
I love you, loved you . . . loved you first and last,
And love you on for ever. Now I know
I loved you always."
E. B. BROWNING.