‘Abner, are you mad? What’s come over you?’
‘I don’t know. Naught’s come over me. It’s hearing his name sudden like that. It’s like a judgment. It makes you think.’
‘Judgment!’ she scoffed. ‘Oh, Abner, haven’t we thought enough? Haven’t we been thinking for six months? I’m sick of thinking!’
‘Like a warning. Just the very second. If he’d come an hour later . . .’
‘What’s the difference, Abner? If he’d come to-morrow or in a week’s time it would be no different. We’d made up our minds, Abner, we’re not children. Things like that don’t count. Whether you’ve had me or not, I’m yours. You know that.’
She clung closer to him, but his mind would not accept the sway of her emotion. He freed himself from her hands, and the movement swept her into a passion.
‘Abner!’ she cried. ‘Don’t do that! Don’t! You’ll kill me . . . kill me!’
‘George is my pal,’ he said stolidly. ‘I gave old George my word. We shook hands on it, George and me. “Abner,” he said, “you’m the only pal I’ve got that I can trust.”’
‘Oh, that’s it, is it?’ she cried, and her voice went shrill. ‘That’s it? What children men are! Gave George your word! Don’t you see that you’ve broken your word already . . . broken it long ago, ever since you thought of me like that? And then you say you love me! That isn’t love, Abner, not my kind anyway!’
He caught her up in his arms, and she could not speak now for tears. His own face was anguished.