"Yes—where is she?—And you——?"
He caught the note of apprehension. Next moment he was kneeling by her chair, confessing all.
"Mummy, I've just asked her—to marry me. And she simply ... won't hear of it. I thought it would be so lovely, going out together—that it would please you so——"
The smile in her eyes recalled Tara's own. "Did you say it that way—to her, my darling?"
"No—not exactly. Naturally I did mention you—and India. She admits she's fond of me. Yet she got quite angry. I can't make her out."
A faintly aggrieved note in his voice, implied expectation of sympathy. To his inexpressible surprise she said pensively, as if to herself: "Such a wise Tara!"
"Well, I don't see where the wisdom comes in," he muttered a trifle disconcerted.
"Not yet, son of my heart. Some day perhaps when your eyes are not too dazzled from the many-coloured sparkle of youth—of yourself—you will see—many surprises. You are not yet ready for a wife, Roy. Your heart is reaching out to far-away things. That—she has been woman enough to guess."
"Perhaps, I'm not so sure. She seemed—not a bit like herself, part of the time." He looked pensively at a slim vase overflowing with sprays of blush rambler, that, for some reason, evoked a tantalising vision of the girl who had so suddenly blossomed into a woman; and his shy, lurking thought found utterance: "I've been wondering, Mummy, is it ... can she be—in love with somebody else? Do you think she is?"
Lilámani shook her head at him. "That is a man's question! Hard to tell. At this kind of age, when girls have so much character—like my Tara—they have a natural instinct for hiding the thoughts of their hearts." She dropped her needlework now and lightly took his head between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Do you think you are yet—in love with her, Roy? Honest answer."