"Hector dear, I've been thinking a lot lately, thinking that perhaps the ambition we used to talk such a lot of is nothing, after all. I am sure now there is only one thing in the world that matters—love; that's real, the other's only a dream."
"What do you mean, Stara? This is against everything you used to say. Talk of inconsistency!"
"I know, but you mustn't expect a woman to be consistent. Besides, I wasn't in love then, but now I am, and can see things clearer. Oh, I am ashamed when I think of the nonsense I used to talk. Dear, I don't ask it, but couldn't you, wouldn't you like to give it up and be with me always?"
"Stara ... you don't mean? You ... can't. Oh, God, there seems to be a curse on me," and Hector flung himself face downwards on the grass.
A look of desperate pain came over Stara's face, as she answered hurriedly:
"No, no, you need not fear. I was only thinking, you being so happy here with me, that perhaps you had for gotten your ambitions."
"I? Never, they're part of me. Oh, thank God, but you know, Stara, I'd have done it, don't you? I'll keep faith with you."
For a fraction of a second Stara hesitated, but, before she could speak, Hector went on, and the chance was gone:
"You see, Stara, I must go back; they'll be finding out things if I don't—fellows are so infernally inquisitive—and then your brother might come to hear. By the way, he's no idea, I suppose?"
"None whatever. I told him what you said, about being here on leave when you're supposed to be in England, and that if they knew there'd be trouble. Dick won't say a word."