‘Well, if I did? Whatever they may be, they could not have behaved worse than you did.’
‘Joan, you are a sweet dear.’
‘Brion, I hoped we should meet to-day: that is the truth. Did you come a-fishing?’
‘Yes, for love. I did not need a rod for that.’
‘No, the rod comes after.’
‘I prithee talk not so. It is not natural, I am sure, to your lips.’
‘Well, I will not,’ She leaned towards him irresistibly, and he stole an arm about hers. It was all quite natural, harmless, and pretty. ‘Now tell me of yourself,’ she said, ‘and why you are unhappy.’
He gave her his story—after a little thought—concealing nothing from her. His rather staid reserve yielded to this endearing comrade as it had never done to any other in his life before. And she listened in silence, making no comment until he had finished. Then she said, her eyes fixed reflectively on his:—
‘I much marvel who the pale lady was?’
It was that incident which had dwelt in her mind above the rest. Why? Because of the intuitive woman in her, conscious and suspectful.