“Oh.... Let’s walk over into the Park and talk?”
He assented, rather ungraciously, because he would have preferred making the suggestion himself, and they turned down the next cross street and into a deserted and solitary walk in the Park. It was a harsh and blustery night; no rain was falling, but the walks were wet and glistening and the bare branches shook down chilly drops when the wind blew. There was no one about; they had the place to themselves, and Nick selected a bench near a light, where he could see her face—if he wished. He took a newspaper from his overcoat pocket and spread it for her to sit on.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s hear what you had to say to Aunt Emmie!”
His tone wasn’t pleasant; this visit had made him suspicious and uneasy.
“I wanted ... no, I’d rather not tell you....” said Rosaleen.
“Very well!” he said briefly.
He slouched down, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking at the trees and shrubs before him absurdly illuminated by the electric light. Like scenery on the stage, he thought, except that the colours were too drab and indefinite.... He felt extraordinarily miserable, sorrowful, irritated. He began to feel sorry for this partner of his dreary romance.
“You’ll marry me at once, won’t you, Rosaleen?” he asked, with an innocent sort of kindness. And instead of answering as he had expected, she cried suddenly—
“Why?”
He tried his best to say “Because we love each other,” but he could not utter the words. A gust of wind brought down a shower from the tree behind them, pattering with sudden violence on his hat.