He answered simply. "To smoke a cigarette and have a yarn."
One awful weight fell from her heart. "Will you say that you're sorry for that horrid thing you flung at me about the huts and the desert island?"
He thought for a moment, remembered and laughed. "Yes," he said, "I'm sorry."
The other weight fell. There was a third, heavier than these two, that would always remain. "I will marry you," she said.
And he gave a queer groan and his hands went out to catch her and fell to his sides.
And the other weight fell with what seemed to her to be a crash that echoed all over the world. Being a woman, and a woman in love, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
"Don't do that," he cried out.
"Why not?" she asked softly, standing so close that the perfume of her hair made him shake. "Aren't you forcing me to be your wife?"
"No. I'm only going to make you marry me."
"Then I won't marry you," she said.