“No. If I understand what love means, I love you.”
“Then give me the kiss I am waiting for. You have not kissed me yet.”
“I can’t—until I am sure of myself—of my readiness—”
Her broken words betrayed the passion with which she was struggling. Everard felt her tremble against his side.
“Give me your hand,” he whispered. “The left hand.”
Before she could guess his purpose he had slipped a ring upon her finger, a marriage ring. Rhoda started away from him, and at once drew off the perilous symbol.
“No—that proves to me I can’t! What should we gain? You see, you dare not be quite consistent. It’s only deceiving the people who don’t know us.”
“But I have explained to you. The consistency is in ourselves, our own minds—”
“Take it back. Custom is too strong for us. We should only play at defying it. Take it back—or I shall drop it on the sand.”
Profoundly mortified, Everard restored the gold circlet to its hiding-place and stood gazing at the dim horizon. Some moments passed, then he heard his name murmured. He did not look round.