“Us all?” She caught up the phrase accusingly. “Then you feel it, too?”
“I think I have always felt—something—of it, here!”
“It?” Gabrielle repeated the monosyllable thoughtfully, and as they turned slowly toward the house, “Horror——” she said, under her breath. “David, David, can’t we all get away?”
“We must get away,” he amended. “It isn’t a good atmosphere for any one! Perhaps next summer——”
He stopped. Sylvia had given him another significant hint a few minutes ago. But he dared not ask Gabrielle to confirm it. No, he was only a sort of big brother to her—she did not need him much now; presently she would not need him at all.
“David,” she said, quickly and distressedly, when in their slow and fog-enshrouded walk they had reached the little alley under the grapevines where Gay had seen her mother almost a year ago, “will you advise me?”
His face was instantly attentive; of the sudden plunge of his heart there was no sign.
“Gladly, dear.”
“Tom has asked me to marry him, David,” Gabrielle said.
Their eyes met seriously; David did not speak.