"Not until you have told me more about yourself. Has it occurred to you that you have told me nothing, absolutely nothing about yourself?" She was looking at him now. He winced.
"Of course, if a woman is—is—well, easy enough to go into the mountains and on an outing with the man—a man who has told her nothing of himself, then, it—he cannot be censured." She watched a pine squirrel now that played near, and who regarded them out of eyes that made Miss Palmer feel guilty.
"You are like a stone wall when it comes to secrets. Did you ever really love anyone?"
"Yes."
"Oh, you don't mean it!" she cried in feigned surprise. "Who was it?"
"You would be no wiser if I told you."
At this moment, a blast in a mine near, which they did not see, went off. It broke the silence so sharply, that both sat quickly upright. In doing so, their hands met. His clasped hers. In a moment the tension was released, but the hands were not. Slowly their hands clasped each others tighter. He was in some way conscious of the fact, while she was dreamy. He looked by chance into her eyes, and they were more dreamy still. Their shoulders touched. She sat at his left, and it happened singularly to be his right hand that held hers. In that moment they seemed to feel lonely, very lonely. Both had suffered—and, to a degree, their suffering had been similar. To give up and to be human, unconventionally so for just a little while, seemed a mad desire. She swayed perceptibly. Suddenly his left arm stole about her waist and encircled her body. Mechanically he looked down, and into her eyes, that were upturned. They seemed to tell the secret behind. To be loved for one minute was what they asked. He lingered a moment, and then his head went down. When it had retained its former position and was erect, he had kissed Miss Palmer.
He was standing now, and was looking down upon Effingham. It lay silent and gray from where he saw it. In that moment he wanted to be back there. He felt guilty. He turned and beheld Miss Palmer. He felt more guilty than before. She lay against the tree with her face turned the other way. He felt very sorry for her then. Yes, Miss Palmer would, he believed, do the right thing. She would be glad to do the right thing. Oh, she had had her troubles. And Sidney Wyeth knew that when people had suffered, especially when it had been their great ambition to do the right thing and be happy, they would go through eternity to make happiness possible. He spoke now.
"Don't you think we had better be going, Miss Palmer?" She heard him, and his voice was kind, she thought. She rose, and together they went back over the hill and caught the Relay.