"Lots of times. Never as much as this, Patricia!" He stretched his hands towards her. Patricia hesitated. Then she shook her head.
"You mustn't joggle me," she said. "I've got to find out for myself."
"Well, was that all you wanted to ask me? If so, I'll tell you something. You've got the most beautiful eyes, Patricia; and your little mouth changes every——"
"That wasn't all," cried Patricia, and stammered, the warmth rising to her cheeks. She could see him so near, and his ardent glance and air of conscious and indulgent charm were intoxicating to her; and she was shot through and through with the knowledge that Harry could be brutal and harsh and tyrannical, that he could be brusque and unfeeling; that the thick stream of emotion which she was conscious of recognising in him made for satiety and not for the delicate, whimsical, pervasive love she craved. She had been going to ask him other things—things which it was essential to her peace of mind both now and in the future that she should know; and she could not do so. They, whether she had a right to them or not, were all of no account beside her certainty. He was a stranger at heart, who should have been master of her finest and truest consciousness. Patricia paled, her hands sharply together. "No!" she cried. "I can't marry you. It's too great a risk. I can't do it!"
"And who on earth," said Harry, "who on earth asked you to marry me?"
ix
Patricia felt her heart jump and then turn cold. She stared at him.
"Oh," she stammered. "Oh ... then ... then, that's all right, isn't it? I thought you wanted me to. I...." She gave a small nervous laugh. "What do you mean, then?"
"Look here," said Harry. "I'm in love with you, and you're in love with me."
"No," said Patricia. "I'm clear about that now."