“Yes,” she could scarcely breathe it.
“I thought it was,” in the voice in which he had spoken of the music. “I hoped it was—after I first began to suspect. I hoped it was.”
“It is—it is.”
“Did we—” he had not indeed meant that his arm should hold her a shade closer, but—in spite of himself—it did because he was after all so little more than a boy, “—did we play together in a garden?”
“Yes—yes,” breathed Robin. “We did.” Surely she heard a sound as if he had caught a quick breath. But after it there were a few more steps and another brief space of silence.
“I knew,” he said next, very low. “I knew that we played together in a garden.”
“You did not know when you first looked at me tonight.” Innocently revealing that even his first glance had been no casual thing to her.
But his answer revealed something too.
“You were near the door—just coming into the room. I didn’t know why you startled me. I kept looking for you afterwards in the crowd.”
“I didn’t see you look,” said Robin softly, revealing still more in her utter inexperience.