"Oh, don't let us squabble on your first night!'" said Averil hastily.
"Squabble!" the boy exclaimed, springing to his feet vigorously. "Do you call—that—squabbling?"
Averil stood up, too, tall and straight, and slightly defiant.
"I don't want you to go away, Dick," she said, "if you can stay and behave nicely. I thought it was horribly selfish of you to go off as you did last winter. I think so still. If you had got killed, I should have been very—very—"
"What?" demanded Derrick impatiently. "Sorry? Angry—what?"
"Angry," said Averil, with great decision. "I should never have forgiven you. I am not sure that I shall, as it is."
Derrick uttered a sudden passionate laugh. Then abruptly his mood changed. He held out his hands to her.
"Averil!" he said. "Averil! Can't you see how I want you—how I love you? Why do you treat me like this? I've thought about you, dreamt about you, day after day, night after night, ever since I went away. You thought it beastly selfish of me to go. But it hasn't been such fun, after all. All the weeks I was in hospital I felt sick for the sight of you. It was worse than starvation. Can't you see what it is to me? Can't you see that I—I worship you?"
"My dear Dick!" Averil put her hands into his, but her gesture was one of restraint. "You mustn't talk so wildly," she said. "And, dear boy, do try not to be quite so impulsive—so headstrong. You know, you—you—"
She broke off. Derrick, with a set jaw and burning eyes, was drawing her to him, strongly, irresistibly.