She did not answer.
“Would you?”
“It is not your war.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It is the point,” she said, in sudden rebellion. “No, I don’t want you to go back. It’s absurd, unnecessary, quixotic!”
Poor Anne. She little knew what harm she had done by that one little outburst. I remembered Bernoline, and, when next I looked at Anne, I saw only a child.
“And when we get into it? What then, young lady?” I said, laughing. “Are you going to arrange everything to suit yourself?”
“Davy, if you knew how you hurt me when you take that tone,” she said, shrinking back. “I am not a child.”
“Then, Anne, you must face life as it comes to you. We can’t make it as we want it, but our kind, of all the world, should never dodge a responsibility.”
“I always show you my worst side,” she said, shaking her head, and presently, leading the way down the ravine again, but this time more deliberately, she began to chatter lightly of old memories without an approach to intimacy, until the moment came for my departure.