“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, her face turned away.
He made a step toward the sofa, and as she heard him, she drew back as if frightened. He stopped instantly, regarding her with a sudden frowning fixity of suspicion and anger.
“Don’t you care for me, June?” he said.
“Yes, yes, of course—so much, so much more than I used to. But, Rion—”
She turned and looked at him, one of her hands raised as if to ward him off. He started forward to seize the hand, but she quickly drew it back and clasped it round the locket.
“Not that way,” she faltered, “not the way you want.”
“Are you going to say no to me again?”
“Oh, Rion!” she pleaded.
“Do you care for me? Answer. Don’t beat about the bush.”
“I care for you immensely. I’ve always cared for you, but lately it’s been something quite different, something much deeper. You’ve been so kind to me.”