Acton stopped in the road, with a movement which seemed to beg her to linger a little. She paused, and he looked at her awhile; he thought her very charming. “You are jesting,” he said; “but if you are really going away it is very serious.”
“If I stay,” and she gave a little laugh, “it is more serious still!”
“When shall you go?”
“As soon as possible.”
“And why?”
“Why should I stay?”
“Because we all admire you so.”
“That is not a reason. I am admired also in Europe.” And she began to walk homeward again.
“What could I say to keep you?” asked Acton. He wanted to keep her, and it was a fact that he had been thinking of her for a week. He was in love with her now; he was conscious of that, or he thought he was; and the only question with him was whether he could trust her.
“What you can say to keep me?” she repeated. “As I want very much to go it is not in my interest to tell you. Besides, I can’t imagine.”