Her eyes were shining. They always glittered, but now they were starry. The drifted white folds across her breast stirred to her quickened breath.
“If you loved me, Sybil, I could do something great!” said he.
“But I don’t,” she said—“at any rate, not now; and I’ve told you so a dozen times. My dear Rupert, the man who needs a woman to save him isn’t worth the saving.”
“What would you call a big thing?” he asked. “Must I conquer an empire for you, or start a new religion? Or shall I merely get the Victoria Cross, or become Prime Minister?”
“Don’t sneer,” said she; “it doesn’t become you at all. You’ve no idea how horrid you look when you’re sneering. Why don’t you——? Oh! but it’s no good! By the way, what a charming cover Housman has designed for your Veils and Violets! It’s a dear little book. Some of the verses are quite pretty.”
“Go on,” said he, “rub it in. I know I haven’t done much yet; but there’s plenty of time. And how can one do any good work when one is for ever sticking up one’s heart like a beastly cocoanut for you to shy at? If you’d only marry me, Sybil, you should see how I would work!”
“May I refer you to my speech—not the last one, but the one before that.”
He laughed; then he sighed.
“Ah, my Pretty,” he said, “it was all very well, and pleasant enough to be scolded by you when I could see you every day; but now——”
“How often,” she asked calmly, “have I told you that you must not call me that? It was all very well when we were children; but now——”