It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had been fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to work once again. She said very coolly:
“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have you forgotten saying that?”
“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going because—”
“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of her mouth had softened by not a little.
“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there would be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally desperate for me, whatever we do.”
“Desperate?”
“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, as your look said.”
“I do not hate you.”
“You are very eager to be rid of my company.”
“I did not understand.”