“Don’t you see what it means to me?” he said, his face above hers in the uncertain light.
She looked down at her imprisoned hand, but that was all. He leaned closer. Her eyes closed as he kissed her.
“You must not do that if you don’t mean it,” she said almost abruptly and with a passionate intensity which startled him.
“But I do mean it, so much more than I could ever put into words,” he cried, more shaken than he had imagined. “I love you.”
Her hand went up to his shoulder in a gesture of helplessness.
“Are you sure?” she exacted. “Are you certain?” she repeated, with a soft desperation which left her adorable.
He took her in his arms and held her close as he murmured, “As certain as life!”
He kissed her again, this time more appropriately, more masterfully. And with it a lifetime of repression went up in flames.
“I love you,” she said, her grim Keswick candor once more asserting itself. “I’ll always have to love you, whatever happens.” She turned away from him a little and stared toward the shadowy front of the old manor-house. “I don’t care so much now what they say.”
“Why should you?” he demanded, realizing how little he had thought of the world beyond that arbor.