“Bunny Richmond, of course. She’s playing some kind of hide-and-seek round here. It’s not fair.”
“It is fair!” cried Bunny passionately. He could hear her calling to him from somewhere just round the corner of the path. “Oh, Martin, Martin, can’t you see? I can’t tell you, you’ve got to find out for yourself.”
Bunny had cried out so eagerly that even Joyce almost heard her. She turned to look.
“What was that, someone whispering?”
“It’s only Bunny,” he said impatiently. “She’s playing tricks on me. She wants me to go away.”
Joyce had stepped out of the shadow, and now Martin partly saw.
“Why, I know who you are. Why ... why, of course. They called you Miss Clyde, that fooled me. You’re not Miss Anybody, you’re Joyce ... the one who gave me the mouse. You don’t love me too, do you? People only love you when they want you to do things.”
Bunny kept calling him, but he closed his ears to her.
“No, I don’t love you,” she said slowly. “I love George.”
But she had to look at him again to be sure. He was very beautiful and perplexed. Perhaps she loved everybody. For an instant she thought he was George; she could see now that there was a faint resemblance between them. Then she noticed that George was there too. He had come along the path from the stable. His face was sharpened with resolve. He paid no attention to Martin, but spoke directly to her.