“I hope I should like her very much,” said Constance with a forced laugh, and looking away from him.
“I am afraid you will not,” George answered, almost unconsciously. The words fell from his lips as a reply to her strained laughter which told too plainly her real thoughts.
“You should not ask such questions,” she said, a moment later. “Do you find it hard to talk to me?” she asked, suddenly turning the conversation.
“I think it would be hard for you and me to talk about these things for long.”
“We need not—if we meet. It is better that we should have said what we had to say, and we need never say it again. And we shall meet more often, now, shall we not?”
“Does it give you pleasure to see me?” There was a touch of hardness in the tone.
Constance looked down and the colour came into her thin face. Her voice trembled a little when she spoke.
“Are you going to be unkind to me again? Or do you really wish to know?”
“I am in earnest. Does it give you pleasure to see me?”
“After all I have said—oh, George, this has been the happiest hour I have spent since the first of May.”