Yet in her heart of hearts she knew that Eustace was right. That past week had been a paradise of relief, and now it came perilously near to the time when the problem of her life must be faced. She had driven round it so far, had turned back deliberately when she found it barring the road, had claimed time to understand the position. What had she done towards a decision? Nothing! Nothing save bask in the immediate freedom; rejoice like any child in the fine weather, in Rick's open adoration, in her cousin's constant companionship.
As she and the boy walked homewards together, these thoughts came again and again, whilst her nervous fingers busied themselves mechanically with the silver ring which he had made for her; a growing habit of which she was not aware.
"Does it hurt you?" he asked tenderly. "I can easily alter it, if it does."
She shook her head with a faint smile.
"But I have seen you do that so often lately," he persisted; "perhaps the inside is not quite smooth. Give it me, please, and I will set it right by Friday."
"Don't trouble. If it hurts, I can always take it off; can't I, dear?" There was a sudden passion in her tone, a kind of pitiful reproach in her eyes. Rick looked at her, perturbed.
"But if it hurts--" he began.
She put out her pretty hand and laid it on his, almost with a protecting gesture. "Nothing you could do would hurt me, Rick. You said so the first time we met, and it is true. If it hurts, it is my own fault."
"That doesn't make any difference," he replied stoutly. "Let me have it, please."
"Not to-day--on Friday, perhaps; if it hurts."