“What is it all about?” he demanded, when Winifred was quite breathless. “Am I loved, then?”
Her forehead was on his shoulder, and she did not answer.
“It seems so,” he whispered. “Silence is said to mean consent. But why, then, was I not loved the day before yesterday?”
Still Winifred dared not answer. The frenzy was passing, the moral nature re-arising, stronger than ever, claiming its own. She had promised and failed! What she did was not well for him.
“Tell me,” he urged, with a lover’s eagerness. “You’ll have to, some time, you know.”
“You promised not to come. You promised definitely,” said Winifred, disengaging herself from him.
“Could I help coming?” cried he. “I was in the greatest bewilderment and misery!”
“So you will always come, even if you promise not to?”
“But I won’t promise not to! Where is the need now? You love me, I love you!”