There was a long silence.
At length—
“You remember,” said Toby, “what you said yesterday about my not letting you down?”
Cicely nodded.
“Well, if I’ve seemed off-hand since then, it’s because of what you said. That’s why I’ve not called you by name or—or told you how sweet you are. You see, it began as a game—‘Without Prejudice,’ but when you said what you did, you opened my eyes. . . . And then, suddenly, I realized that for me the game had slid into reality . . . that I had quite lost sight of the very first rule of the game. . . . And so—I had to stop. I couldn’t call you ‘darling’ or speak of the stars in your eyes, because . . . I find you a darling and I love the stars in your eyes.”
Cicely bowed her head.
The man continued slowly.
“Well, there you are. I’ve bought it. I’ve queered my rotten pitch. I suggested the blasted game. I gave it its footling label and let you come right in—under that shelter. Now you’re in balk, and I’ve got to let you go. . . . Don’t think I’m trying to get out. I’m not. I’ll post this letter to-night as I’m a living fool. But I’d give ten years of my life to call back the idle moment when I started that game.”
For a moment the two sat silent. Then, as if by one consent, they rose to their feet.
Cicely put out a hand, and the man took it.