“It is sometimes rather hard, Anne, isn’t it?”
“There you go! But if we don’t—don’t you see that we lose all that was so wonderful, so rare, so genuine that we once had. And this is what is happening.” Still she had not looked at me. Her mood changed and she drew the lash of her whip over the steaming flank of a horse. When she spoke it was gravely and with determination, the voice of a woman. “David, I do not think any harm can come from being absolutely honest, and sometimes, for not being so, a whole destiny may be changed. David, whatever you think I am—I am not in love with you—”
“But I never—”
“I am not in love with you, but I can imagine—some day—if I did—if I was—well, marrying you.”
The next moment the whip had struck across the glistening back and we shot out into a gallop.
“Stop!” I cried out, but she only shook her head, bending lower to hide her face that was aflame with confusion.
“Stop!”
I caught the reins from her and brought our perilous rocking flight to a halt. Then I turned to her. Poor child, I knew what the suspense of that moment meant to her! I could almost feel her heart stand still; even then, thank heaven, I did not abuse the situation—at least, I think not—and heaven knows how easy it would have been!
“Anne, dear little friend, I think more of you at this minute than I ever have, for saying that.”