"And yet perhaps after all you will," said Guy eagerly. "And if you do, I'll tell you something in turn."
"That's no bribe," said Margaret laughing. "You foolish creature, don't you think I know what you'll tell me?"
Guy shook his head.
"I don't think you do. You may suspect. But for that matter, so may I. Isn't what you might have told me something that might most suitably be told on the way to Fairfield?"
"You've been talking about me to Pauline," said Margaret angrily.
"Never," he declared. "But you don't suppose you can have all these mysterious allusions to Richard without my guessing that his father is Vicar of Fairfield. Dear Margaret, forgive me for guessing and tell me what you were going to tell."
"Have you heard I was engaged to Richard Ford?" she asked.
"I heard he was in love with you."
"Oh he is, he is," she murmured, and Guy thinking of Richard in India wondered if he ever dreamed of Margaret walking like this in a snowy England. The clock in Fairfield church struck eleven with an icy tinkle that on the muted air sounded very thinly. "But the problem for me," Margaret went on, "is whether I'm in love with him, or if Richard is merely the nicest person who has been in love with me so far."
"Well, if you'd asked me that three months ago," Guy said, "I would have answered decidedly that you weren't in love with him if you had one doubt. But now ... well, you know really now I'm rather in the state of mind that wants everybody to be in love. And why do you think you're not in love with him?"