"I knew you would." She nestled down again, and pulled his hand over her shoulder, holding it against her cheek. "I know I'm very unorthodox," she said. "Perhaps I'm wicked as well. I can't help it. I think marriage—except for good people like Hilda—is a mistake. It's so terribly cold-blooded and—and irrevocable."
She spoke the last words almost in a whisper. She was holding his hand very tightly.
He sat very still, and she wondered if he were shocked by her views, but she could not bring herself to ascertain. She went on quickly, with a touch of recklessness—
"It's only the good people like Hilda who can be quite sure they will never change their minds. In fact, I'm beginning to think that it's only the good people who never do. Trevor, what should you do if—if you were married to me, and then you—changed your mind?"
"I can't imagine the impossible, Chris," he said.
She moved restlessly. "Would it be quite impossible?"
"Quite."
"Even if you found out that I was—quite worthless?"
"That also is impossible," he said gravely.
She was silent for a space, then, "And what if I—changed mine?" she said, her voice very low.