“How glad it must be!” she said, with a roguish, sidelong glance at him.
“Would you be glad if I left you alone?” he asked her. “Have you been glad all the year because I did not come near you, or write?”
“I don’t think I thought about it at all,” she said aggravatingly.
“Well, think now. I shall not come back again if you say ‘No’ a second time.”
He was very grave now, and there was something in his voice that suggested smoldering wrath.
“Now you are cross,” she said, pouting. “You have asked me nothing to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean, Phyllis. You know why I have come to Hastings—why I asked you to walk with me to the Glen, instead of riding with the others. You know that I have come expressly to ask you again if you will be my wife.”
They had come to a standstill and were looking out over the sea. She watched a couple of white-winged yachts, coquetting, as it seemed, like butterflies.
“Are they not lovely?” she asked, pointing at the yachts.
Langridge took the wrist of her extended arm almost roughly.