A doubt as to the expediency of so much talk of hearts and love crept into her mind, but she quieted it by remembering how much worse the Song of Solomon was—"And yet so respectable really," she said, continuing her thought aloud, "and all only about the Church."
"What is so respectable? Come and sit on that seat by the bush covered with roses," he said. "Look—in this faint light they are as white and delicate as you."
"The Song of Solomon. It—just happened to come into my head. Things do," she added, beginning to lay hold of the first words that occurred to her, no longer at her ease.
She sat down on the edge of the seat where he put her.
"It's stone," she said nervously, looking up at him, for he had taken a step back and was considering her, his head on one side. "Do you think it's good for us?"
"You beautiful little thing," he murmured, considering her. "You exquisite little lover."
Her hands gripped the edge of the seat more tightly. A sudden very definite longing for Robert seized her.
"Oh, but—" she began, and faltered.
She tried again. "It's so kind of you, but—you know—but I don't think—"
"What don't you think, my dear, my discoverer, my creator, my restorer—"