"What do you mean? Go into a refuge?"
"A refuge! What abominable twaddle you can talk when you like."
She laid a sticky finger over his mouth. "Tut-tut-tut! Come outside if you're going to scold. It's too fuzzy in here. You'll get a rush of brains to the head."
Outside, the garden was deserted. The centre of interest seemed to have shifted to the upper terrace. A large horny beetle was pursuing his homeward or outward way over the pounded shell of the walk. Fenella assisted him with the point of her parasol, and did not relax her good offices until he was in dazed safety upon the border. Then she looked up.
"Flash! why don't you marry me and have done with it?"
She punched six holes in the path before replying.
"What do you want to 'have done with?' Why can't we go on as we are a little longer?"
"Because it's—unnatural. There are other reasons, but that's enough."
"It isn't, if you don't let it worry you—Oh! what am I saying? Bryan, do you think we'd care as much for one another if—if I did as you say."
"Of course we should—more every day."