“It is serious, then?” she questioned, hesitatingly, her fingers remaining his willing prisoners.
“Very serious.”
The “Gamin” slowly shifted her head, and her luminous eyes met his frankly.
“Speak then,” she said in an odd voice, which seemed all at once a little strangled.
“Well!” Basil began. “Well—now supposing you were asked ... would you ... would a young girl like you find me too old to—to marry?”
Marguerite started and drew her hand firmly away. There was a silence during which the clamor of the gulls became enervatingly loud. A hurtling squadron of noisy birds swept over Marguerite’s and Basil’s heads, settled in disorder on the grass ten yards farther on, and instantly ceased shrieking.
“Well?” Basil, who had also fallen into a bird-study, resumed with an effort.
“Well, I told you so before. You are not so very old.” There was a pitiful little attempt at humor and lightness in the words. “I ... you see ... I was teasing you that day.... I was much younger then.”
“Much younger,” he expostulated, “four weeks ago!”
“Four weeks—is that all?” she wondered.