“I think so,” said Deb, and added politely: “But thank you very much indeed for having been so kind to me in the past.”
“—Or may I have the privilege of loving you as much as I have never dared to love you?” he continued, unheeding her reply.
Deb slowly turned her head to look at him. A very wan moon shivering through the darkness, helped her scrutiny.... She laughed softly: “You don’t love me one bit, Blair. Nor are you likely to.”
“If I told you how much,” murmured the diplomat, “I should influence your choice unfairly.”
“That’s exactly what Samson said when he wouldn’t take my hand before proposing to me. Oh dear—I suppose it will have to be Samson—and everlasting virtue—and dinner with my mother-in-law to-morrow. There is no choice, Blair—as things are ...” and she sighed, thinking of December. “If it weren’t for family claims, I might ask you to be godfather, Blair....”
“I see.”
Abruptly he stood up.
“If you don’t intend to burn your boats—then it’s too late and too dark for you to be sitting alone with me here. Run home, little mother—silly child, you need a lot of looking after, don’t you?”
He thrust such whimsical tenderness into the inflexion “silly child” that she forgave him “little mother,” as she would never forgive Samson. But she wished she had been the first to think of going home....
“We part good friends, Deb?”