“I hope I have been something more than a brother. Brothers are not exactly my idea of a hilariously good time. Shall we drive on up to our little lake?”
“Anywhere you please. It is such a joy to be out of the shop and outdoors on a day like this that places don’t matter in the least.”
Accordingly, he repeated the programme of the former excursion, hitching the mare among the cottonwoods on the shore of the tiny highland lake, and spreading the lap-robe on the hillside where they had sat once before to revel in the glorious view of sky-pitched mountains and swelling plain. For a time they spoke of nothing but the view; but that was only because Bromley was waiting for his opening. It came when Jean said:
“The other time we sat here it was to talk about Philip. Do you see much of him now?”
“Not very much.” Then he took his courage firmly in hand: “I am afraid we shall have to forget Philip, in a way, Jean. Do you think you can do that?”
“Why should we forget him?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“You can’t always forget people just because you might want—because it might be best to forget them.”
“But—what if they deliberately walk out of the picture?”
She looked up quickly, and in the pools of the dark eyes there was the shock of a fear realized.