A long silence. Then she again, sadly: "I don't know how it will work out. But—what else is there for us? We're not heroes. We're human. We must do the best we can. Together we may survive. Apart, I at least will perish—and destroy those near me. I suppose I'm all wrong. But"—with a sigh—"I'm doing the best I can."
Silence again. Then he, deeply moved: "I'll try to be worthy of you, dear."
"Worthy of me? For God's sake, don't say those things. There isn't any pedestal I wouldn't fall off of and break to bits.... Basil—" wistfully—"you don't care for me in just a physical way—do you, dear?"
"I care for you in every way," he answered. "Courtney, I never believed I could respect a woman as I respect you. You know, men aren't brought up really to respect women—or themselves, for that matter."
"Then—couldn't we try to—" She lowered her head, faltered—"couldn't we live as if we were engaged only?"
"Why should we?" he cried.
"I know it's only a fancy. But fancies count more than facts.... I'd feel less the—" She faltered—paused.
"Yes—yes—I understand. And— Well, it doesn't do a man any good to be pretending friendship and smiling in another fellow's face, when all the time— I'll try, Courtney— But—it won't be exactly easy."
Her gaze burned for an instant on his, then dropped. "I should hope not!" murmured she.
They, absorbed in each other, moved so slowly along the road that Winchie, silent, motionless, sullen, upon the sled they were trailing as far as the rope permitted, was stiff with cold. But he did not murmur. By the time they reached the door of the farmhouse, Courtney and Basil had it all planned. He was to leave immediately after supper, was to go at once to Vaughan, make the arrangements, reinstall himself. She was to come home in three or four days—unless Vaughan sent, asking her to come sooner. He dined with the family at the farmhouse, made himself so agreeable that they were all pleased with him—even sister Ann whose bitterness over her failure at what she secretly regarded as woman's only excuse for being alive, took the unoriginal disguise of aggressive man-hating. At six o'clock he drove away in the starlight with a merry jingling of sleigh bells that echoed in Courtney's happy heart. The cold was intense; but she felt only warmth—that delicious warmth that comes from within. She stood on the little front porch, with the stars brilliant above and the snow white and smooth over hill and valley. She watched the swift dark sleigh—listened to those laughing bells, their music growing fainter and fainter—but not in her heart. She was so happy that the tears were in her eyes and the sobs in her throat. It was for her one of those moments in life when she asked nothing more, could imagine nothing that would add to joy. Love again!—and oh, what exalted love, to warm the heart and fill it with light and joy, to brighten every moment of life, to guide her up and ever up.