“If he had said Caroline had sent him to fetch me off the island, I shouldn’t have known who in the world Caroline was.”
“It was then he called me Diana, was it?”
“Yes, it was then.”
“How dared he spoil everything?”
“He did spoil everything; you admit it; then you were happy?”—this triumphantly. It was an admission on her part.
He was so desperately anxious she should admit she had been happy; but she was in a distracting and provoking mood. Why should she smile at the hills and not at him? “Were you happy, Diana? Tell me.”
She nodded.
He wanted to know just how happy? Had she been as happy as he had been? It was not possible. She had not prayed for him every night as he had prayed for her—she could not say she had?
No, she could not; she had never even thought of him. But after they had met, he pleaded—then—had she not thought of him? They must compare notes. She vowed her notes were so lightly pencilled on her memory, she could hardly read them—a thought here, another there.
His notes were indelibly written on his heart. The first time he had seen her was one. He told her what he had thought of her. What had she thought of him? She wouldn’t say. Driven to say something, she confessed she had thought him—tall—yes, tall for his age....