“Of course not, Hugh. I—I couldn’t. But I’ve had to play a part, and it’s not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it’s been, because you seem to have guessed how I—how Sylvie—Perhaps if I went away?”
He was gripped again, shaken a little. “No, don’t leave me. Wait. It won’t be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets over a girl’s timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don’t stand dumb; tell me that she does.”
“She does,” Pete repeated tonelessly.
“I’m sorry I struck you. I have a devil’s temper. And I think of you as still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have beaten you.” He put this forward as though it were a reasonable excuse.
“Yes.” Pete smiled grimly. “I can remember your beatings.” He drew himself away. “Shall we go back?”
Hugh still held him, though at arm’s length. “First I must have a promise from you.” He spoke sternly.
“What do you want?”
“I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the end.”
“You won’t trust me, then?”
“Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your arm.”