“No, Lois,” he answered, “it is not pretence. I do care for you, and in a very few weeks I am coming to fetch you away to make you my wife. You will be glad, then,” he went on. “You will be quite happy.”
Vandermere turned back towards them. He had heard nothing of their conversation, but he saw that Lois was white, and he had hard work to speak calmly.
“Come,” he said to Lois, “I think we had better go on. Good morning, Mr. Saton!”
Saton stood aside to let them pass. He knew very well that Lois would have stayed with him, had he bidden it, but he made no attempt to induce her to do so.
“Till this afternoon,” he said, taking off his hat with a little flourish.
“Hang that fellow!” Vandermere muttered, as he looked at Lois, and saw the change in her. “Why do you let him talk to you, dear? You don’t like him. I am sure that you do not. Why do you allow him to worry you?”
“I think,” Lois answered, “that I do like him. Oh, I must like him, Maurice!”
“Yes?” he answered.
“Don’t let us talk about him. He has gone away now. Come with me to the other end of the Park. Let us hurry....”
Saton walked on until he saw a certain mauve parasol raised a little over one of the seats. A moment afterwards, hat in hand, he was standing before Pauline.