“Then promise me you won’t—until you’ve rewritten it. If you don’t I shall make Hyland, and anyone else who’s likely to be of any use, blazon the whole thing out in every paper in the Colony, and in all South Africa too. Now promise me you won’t.”
The colour had come into her cheeks, emphasising the clearness of the dilated blue eyes. She looked lovely. As she stood there, drawn up erect, again came back to him that vision of her on that exciting occasion of their first meeting. He felt a trifle unsteadied, a trifle thrown off his balance.
“It’s of no use belittling the thing,” she went on, her words tripping over each other’s heels, as it were. “You men who do things are too fond of doing that—”
“Are—they?” rejoined Elvesdon, with a touch of humour. “I’ve sometimes noticed it’s rather the other way on.” And then a sudden whirlwind of feeling seemed to sweep him off his feet. “Edala, when your father and I were in that very tight fix together—I mean just before either of us knew that we were going to have the feeblest chance of escape—I put a question to him. Would you like to know what it was?”
“Yes.”
“Then you shall. I asked him whether, in the event of us ever getting away again, he would have any objection to my trying to win your love.”
“What did he answer?”
“He answered by another question. Did I think I could do it?”
“Well—and do you?”
She stood—the lovely flower-like face transformed with sweetness. He had already taken a couple of steps towards her, in his uncontrollable tension, and then—