She shook her head.
"I don't quite understand. It sounds too fantastic. The past and the future are there always. One can't get rid of them."
"But one can shut the door on them when they threaten to disturb the present, which is the great reality after all."
"Can one? You seem to have a talent for shutting doors!"
"A convenient talent; worth cultivating! You may take my word for it."
Something in the statement or its manner of utterance jarred, ever so slightly,—threatened to break the charm that held her.
"Dangerously convenient," she murmured, in gentle reproof.
"Little Puritan! What a narrow track you walk upon. Hardly room on it for two abreast. Is there?"
The last words were almost a whisper. He pressed nearer, bringing his face close to hers. At the same moment she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and drawing back to escape the disturbing eloquence of his eyes, she discovered the presence of his encircling arm. The discovery brought her to her feet—flushed, palpitating, aquiver with anger at this first shadow of insult to her maidenhood.
"Will you take me in again, please?" she said quietly, and the request savoured of command. For her gentle nature was founded on a rock; and a very little below the unresisting surface one came upon adamant, pure and simple. But the unabashed Frenchman caught one of her hands, and crushed it against his lips.