"Oh—Lance!"
He heard her teeth click on the word. Perhaps she had merely echoed it.
"Yes; a very old engagement. And—frankly—I'm keen."
"Oh—very well". Her hand slipped from his arm. "And when you've fulfilled your prior engagement, you can perhaps find time—to marry me?"
"Darling—don't take it that way," he pleaded.
"Well, I did suppose I was going to be a shade more important to you than—your Lance. But we won't spoil things by squabbling."
Impulsively he drew her forward and kissed her; and this time he kept an arm round her as they moved on. He must speak—soon. But he wanted a natural opening, not to drag it in by the hair.
"And after the honeymoon—Home?" she asked, following up her all-absorbing train of thought.
"Yes—I think so. It's about time."
She let out a small sigh of satisfaction. "I'm glad it's not India. And yet—the life out here gets a hold, like dram-drinking. One feels as if perpetual, unadulterated England might be just a trifle—dull. But, of course, I know nothing about your home, Roy, except a vague rumour that your father is a Baronet with a lovely place in Sussex."