Roy sighed portentously. He found himself feeling younger and younger with every smiling, reasonable word she uttered. It was all so unlike his eager, fiery Tara that perplexity tempered a little his genuine dismay.
"I s'pose you're right," he grudgingly admitted. "But I'm fearfully disappointed."
"You are now. You won't be afterwards. It's not marrying time for you—yet. You've lots of big things to do first. Go out to India and do them. Then—when the time really comes, you'll understand—and you'll be grateful to me—for understanding now. There, what a lecture! But the point is—we can't: and I won't be badgered about it. I'm going back to tea; and if you don't come, I'll have to tell Aunt Lila—why?"
He sighed. "I'll probably tell her myself to-night. Would you mind?"
"N-no, she'll understand."
"Bet she won't."
"She will. You're not the only person the darling understands, though you are her spoilt boy."
She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her normal self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to keep pace with her. He had still more ado to unravel his own tangle of thought and emotion. A few clear points emerged from a chaos of sensations, like mountain peaks out of a mist. He knew she was all of a sudden distractingly lovely; that her charm and obstinacy combined had thoroughly churned him up; that all the same, she was right about his unreadiness for marrying now; that he hoped she didn't utterly despise him; that he hated the idea of leaving her more than ever....
Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he still had a lot to say.
"Tara—why are you sprinting like this?" he broke out, reproachfully. "Are you angry with me?"