"Oh, sometimes," she cried nearly in tears, her light brown hair upon his shoulder. "Oh, yes, yes, Guy. I can't bear to feel.... I'm frightened sometimes, and when Mother has been cross with me, I've not known what to do. Guy, you won't ever ask me to come out again at night?"
"Not if it worries you afterward."
"Oh, yes, it has, it has. Guy, when shall we be married?"
"This year. It shall be this year," he vowed. "Let us believe that, Pauline. You do believe that?"
"Oh, Guy, I adore you so wildly. It must be this year. My darling, my darling, this year ... let it be this year."
Guy doled out very carefully the £35 he had accumulated by the sale of his books. Lampard and Clary had to be content with £7 apiece. Five more creditors received £4, or rather one of them only £3 19s., so that the guinea left over could be put back into the current account for poetic justice. There was for the present nothing more to do but await the verdict of Worrall's reader, and in a fortnight Guy heard from the publisher to say this had been favourable enough to make Mr. Worrall wish to see him in order to discuss the matter of publication. Guy was much excited and rushed across to the Rectory in a festivity of hopefulness. He had wired to say he would be in London next day, and all that evening the name of Worrall was lauded until round his unknown personality shone the aureole of a wise and benevolent saint. There seemed no limit to what so discerning a publisher might not do for Guy, and he and Pauline became to themselves and to her family the hero and heroine of such an adventure as never had been. In the course of the evening Guy had an opportunity of talking to Margaret, and for the first time for a long while he availed himself of it.
"Are you really going to talk to me then?" she asked in mock surprize.
"Margaret, I've been rather objectionable lately," said Guy, remembering with an access of penitence that it must be almost exactly a year ago that he and Margaret in that snowy weather had first talked about his love for Pauline.
"Well, I have thought that you were forgetting me," said Margaret. "I shall be sad if we are never going to be friends again."
"Oh, Margaret, we are friends now. I've been worried, and I thought that you had been rather unkind to Pauline."