He felt reminded of the action of an engine's piston: his heart was pumping so furiously.
"Don't," he urged. "Please don't say so. It would wipe out half the happiness of your presence if——"
That eagerness of his must be checked! There was no knowing how far it would lead! She stepped behind the lattice of conventionality.
"It is growing late." She was on her feet; used the interview terminator again. "We must be returning."
He drew in his breath; was so afraid. Struggled in vain to control his rebellious pulse; fancied he had gone too far. Tried to retrace his steps and found—as most of us do—walking backwards gracefully to be a matter difficult of performance.
"I have not offended you by speaking as I have done, the truth?"
"Offended!"
She spoke shortly. Just repeated his word, not being in a mood for the making of long speeches; added:
"Oh no!... Now let us be going."
They went. Homeward bound the conversation perched on stilts; seemed artificially out of reach; a reserve had sprung up between them. Both were making obvious efforts to be natural. Masters was appreciative of the fact that his own were a sickly failure.