"Did you fall in love with me that day with the Mid-Oxfordshire?" she asked.
"I've often wondered."
"It all seems so strange, Ronnie. Not like--like doing wrong."
"We're not going to do anything wrong."
"We are. That's the strangest part of it."
To the man, too, it was all strange, strange and fantastic beyond belief. He could not imagine himself the same Cavendish who had so long wrestled against the inculcated traditions of his upbringing, of his profession; he could not visualize himself potential sinner against society. Sin was a bodily thing; and he wanted no more of this radiant, dimpling creature than to hear the happy laughter in her voice.
So, for a little while, those two remade their rose-bubble of enchantment, forgetful alike of the problems put behind them and the greater problems yet to be faced.
But at last Aliette said, "Let's be sensible."
"Not this afternoon." He tried to take both her hands, but her hands eluded him.
"Don't!" Her eyes darkled. "We mustn't play any more." And after a pause, she asked him: "I wonder exactly how much you really need me?"