"Of course you can't," Harry agreed jocularly. "The best way is not to think of it—not to look forward at all." His words were light, his face untroubled. Did he not understand? Was he reassuring her, or did his words truly represent the limitations of his insight?
"But I've got to!" She was urgent. Tears were in her eyes. "I was just thinking...."
"I'm not going to get tired of it," Harry said, his jaw set and his laughter gone.
"Aren't you?" asked Patricia, her heart sinking. Her doubt of an instant before seemed to be confirmed. A heavy sigh escaped her. For a moment she was silent. Then, with an abrupt rally, she shook her head. "No," she continued. "You're not going to get tired of it. Nor am I!"
iii
But as soon as she had spoken the words, she knew they were not true. She could not tell whether she would tire now or later; but she was sure that one day she would tire. Her capacity for growth already flew a warning, and she could not for ever be blind to the signal. Well, and what then? A shadow darkened her eyes. She looked across at Harry's clear and happy face, at his crisp hair, and felt the strength and energy that was in him. How resist that boyish charm, the laughter that seemed so constant? Could one ever tire of laughter? Surely it was impossible. Her heart softened. The little impetuous mouth drooped ever so little. At sight of that, Harry's smile broadened.
"You've got a quaint mind," he said. "It doesn't matter in the least."
"It does." Patricia frowned. Then as suddenly she smiled in return. "No, it doesn't. You're quite right. And yet it does, you know."
"Well, which?"