Yet when he found himself alone with Toby, walking along the brow of the furze-strewn down, he attacked the subject with characteristic directness.
"Sheila Melrose thinks you ought to have a season in town before we get married. Would you like to do that?"
Toby looked up at him with her clear eyes wide with surprise. "What the—blazes has it to do with Sheila Melrose?" she said.
He laughed briefly. "Nothing, of course. Less than nothing. It's just a point of view. She thinks you're too pretty to be buried before you've had your fling—rot of that sort."
"My—fling!" said Toby, and with a sudden gesture that was almost of shrinking drew his arm more closely round her shoulders. "I should loathe it and you know it," she said with simplicity.
He held her to him. "Of course you would. I should myself. I hate the smart set. But, you know, you are—awfully pretty; I don't want to do anything unfair."
"Rats!" said Toby.
He bent his face to hers. "Are you beginning to care for me—just a little—by any chance?"
She laughed and flushed, twining her fingers in his without replying.
Bunny pursued his point. "You'd sooner marry me out of hand than go hunting London for someone more to your liking? Would you?"