"It isn't—fair to you," she murmured at last.
"That's my affair," said Hill.
She kept her face hidden from him, and he did not seek to raise it; but there was undoubted possession in the holding of his arms.
After a moment or two she spoke again. "What will you do if—if you find you're not—happy with me?"
"I'll take my chance of that," said Fletcher Hill. He added, under his breath, "I'll be good to you—in any case."
That moved her. She lifted her face impulsively. "You—you are much nicer than I thought you were," she said.
He bent to her. "It isn't very difficult to be that," he said, with a somewhat sardonic touch of humour. "I haven't a very high standard to beat, have I?"
It was not very lover-like. Perhaps, he feared to show her too much of his soul just then, lest he seem to be claiming more than she was prepared to offer. Perhaps that reserve of his which clothed him like a coat of mail was more than even he could break through. But so it was that then—just then, when the desire of his heart was actually within his grasp, he contented himself with taking a very little. He kissed her, indeed, though it was but a brief caress—over before her quivering lips could make return; nor did he seek to deter her as she withdrew herself from his arms.
She stood a moment, looking small and very forlorn. Then she turned to retrace her steps.
"Shall we go back?" she said.