"Have you changed your mind?" he asked.
She shrank at the question, quietly though it was uttered.
His hand closed very steadily upon hers. "Don't be afraid to tell me," he said. "I want the truth, you know, whatever it is."
"I know," she said, and suddenly she began to sob drearily, hopelessly, with her head against his knee.
He bent lower over her; he lifted her till he held her in his arms, pressed close against his heart.
"Yes, hold me!" she whispered, through her tears. "Hold me tight, Trevor!
Don't let me go! I don't feel so—so frightened when you are holding me."
"Tell me what has frightened you," he said.
"I can't," she whispered back. "I'm just—foolish, that's all. And,
Trevor, I can't—I can't—be married as Hilda was to-day. I can't face
it—all the people and the grandeur and the flowers. You won't make me,
Trevor?"
"My darling, no!" he said.
"It frightened me so," she said forlornly. "It seemed like being caught in a trap. One felt as if the guests and the flowers were meant to hide it all, but they didn't—they made it worse. I don't think Hilda felt like that, but then Hilda is so good, she wouldn't. Oh, Trevor dear, I wish—I wish we could go to Kellerton and live there without being married at all."