“Oh, no, they wouldn’t. And even if they did what would it matter? Muriel! please, please, Muriel!”
He raised himself again on tiptoe; and leaning forward, she rested her hands upon his shoulders. Then she slowly bent her head to his, and their lips met in such a kiss as children exchange for forfeits in the nursery. As she drew back Roland slipped back again on to his heels, but he still held her hand and her fingers closed round his, pressing them, if not with passion, at least with fondness.
“You’re rather an old dear, Roland,” she said. And there was a note in her voice that made him say quickly and half audibly:
“And you’re a darling.”
She drew her hand from his gently. “And what was that pretty name you called me?”
“Elfkin.”
“Let me be always Elfkin.”
Both of them that night were wooed to sleep by the delight of their new-found happiness.
CHAPTER XIX
THE LONELY UNICORN
THE lovers went for a walk together on Sunday morning through the woods that lay beyond the village, and they sat on a pile of broken sticks that a charcoal burner had collected for a fire, and they held hands and talked of the future. Her pleasure in this new relationship was a continual fascination to Roland. She regarded love, courtship, and marriage as a delightful game.