He countered without replying: "Didn't you know how much I cared?"
"Yes, but my goodness, Les, must a girl entirely shun a man to prevent his falling—I mean, to keep him from caring too much?"
"Oh, no," he answered with a sharp sigh. "Don't mind me. Don't mind anything I've said. I guess I'll get over it—especially since it seems that you didn't feel at all the way I did, and I was merely making a fool of myself." It was a cup of highly flavoured bitterness.
"Oh, please don't say such a thing as that! You know I told you all along, Leslie, that I—that I had a friend in Arizona, and I—well, you see I somehow felt you'd understand. I didn't know the things we did—I mean I didn't realize our being together so much meant anything except that we—well, that we liked each other and wanted to be together...."
She felt it was just a little lame, and began laying about for more forcible expression. Meanwhile, Leslie muttered: "No, those things never do mean any more, I guess."
"But Leslie, dear—"
She spoke unwisely. At the familiar word of affection, which had thrilled him so often during the unmolested weeks—that wonderful span shattered by the arrival of the letter from Arizona—Leslie momentarily forgot about his dark humiliation. He forgot everything but the fact of the woman beside him. He seized her swinging hand; gripped it. And then they paused, further progress along the sun-flecked way seeming inhibited by some subtle agent in league with the emotion which swept over them both.
Oh, Eros! Are your agents everywhere?
From gripping her hand he unexpectedly and rather bafflingly had her in his arms. And she presented, for just that charged moment, no resistance, but relaxed there with a little inarticulate, troubled, withal surrendering cry.
"Louise!"