"Yes."
"We don't see much of each other nowadays."
"I didn't know.... I wasn't sure you wanted to see me."
"Good gracious! What made you think that?"
"I don't know."
Silence fell upon them again. John was harassed by a growing consciousness that he was failing to prove himself worthy of this golden moment which the Fates had granted to him. Was this all he was capable of—stiff, halting words which sounded banal even to himself? A night like this deserved, he felt, something better. He saw himself for an instant as he must be appearing to a girl like Pat, a girl who had been everywhere and met all sorts of men—glib, dashing men; suave, ingratiating men; men of poise and savoir faire who could carry themselves with a swagger. An aching humility swept over him.
And yet she had come here to-night to see him. The thought a little restored his self-respect, and he was trying with desperate search in the unexplored recesses of his mind to discover some remark which would show his appreciation of that divine benevolence, when she spoke again.
"Johnnie, let's go out on the moat."
John's heart was singing like one of the morning stars. The suggestion was not one which he would have made himself, for it would not have occurred to him, but, now that it had been made, he saw how super-excellent it was. He tried to say so, but words would not come to him.
"You don't seem very enthusiastic," said Pat. "I suppose you think I ought to be at home and in bed?"