He rose, though she was still seated. Marian moved a few steps away, but turned and approached him again.
‘Do you really love me?’ she asked, taking one of his hands and folding it between her own.
‘I do indeed love you, Marian. Are you still doubtful?’
‘You’re not sorry that I must go?’
‘But I am, dearest. I wish we could sit here undisturbed all through the evening.’
Her touch had the same effect as before. His blood warmed again, and he pressed her to his side, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead.
‘Are you sorry I wear my hair short?’ she asked, longing for more praise than he had bestowed on her.
‘Sorry? It is perfect. Everything else seems vulgar compared with this way of yours. How strange you would look with plaits and that kind of thing!’
‘I am so glad it pleases you.’
‘There is nothing in you that doesn’t please me, my thoughtful girl.’