"Yes," said Grace. "I am afraid this may happen."
"Well, I value your friendship and don't mean to give it up, but I can't pretend, and think you wouldn't be deceived if I tried."
"You mean you would not do what you thought was shabby in order to avoid a clash?"
"I mean something like that. Now you know how things are, you must choose your line. I can't judge how far your duty to your parents binds you; you can."
Grace felt her heart beat and was silent for a moment or two.
"I cannot criticize my father's deeds and agree with people who are opposed to him," she said. "All the same, unless he expressly orders it, I cannot give up my friends."
Kit tried to hide his satisfaction. "We'll let it go; I understand!"
He expected her to move away, and wondered whether it was tactful for him to stop, but to his surprise she smiled and sat down on the bridge.
"Very well. Suppose we talk about something else? The shade is nice, and I need not go home yet. You promised to tell me about your adventures and your uncle. I think you called him a survival from the old romantic days when the pirates haunted the Gulf of Mexico."
Kit pondered as he leaned against the alder trunk. He thought Grace meant to banish the strain; anyhow, she was willing to stay and he wanted her to do so. It was strangely pleasant to loiter on the bridge with her while the shadows trembled on the road and the beck murmured in the shade. But if he meant to keep her, he must talk, and although he did not want to say much about his adventures he had a story to tell. The story was moving, if he could tell it properly.