"Thank goodness," he repeated without heartiness.
"Do you think it can?" She shot a suspicious glance at him.
"Good heavens, no!" he denied, his vigour a little overdone.
"You do!" she cried, "you believe he will try, please, please tell me."
The eyes of the man were very tender, there was a curious sadness in them when he looked at her; she dropped hers before them.
"You must not think of such things," he said gently, so unlike his usual self that she, for some unfathomable reason, was near to tears, "why, I scarcely deserve your thought. I who have vexed you so, and hurt you so, though God knows I only acted as I did in an impetuosity that was born of a great and an abiding love."
Her heart went racing, like the screw of a liner, and she felt choking. There were other sensations which she had no time to analyse. Her eyes sought the ground and her hands plucked idly at the flowers within her reach.
"Please remember that, Alicia." With an odd thrill she recognized the masterful touch in this calm appropriation of her name. "What may have seemed impertinence, was really sincerity. The world would say that I have not known you long enough, that the hideous formalities and conventional preliminaries were essential, and that to ask a girl to marry you for no other reason than because you had seen her and loved her, without balancing this virtue against that failing, was an outrageous and unprecedented thing."
She raised her eyes up shyly but did not speak.
The old look was coming back into his face. The old mocking was in his voice when he went on.