“No, she doesn’t,” said Elizabeth, reprovingly. “And she has never asked.”
Louis laughed.
“That’s for my conscience, I suppose,” he said, “but I don’t mind. I can bear it a lot better if you haven’t told Agneta. And look here, Lizabeth, even if you never tell me a single word, I shall always know things about you—things that matter. I’ve always known when things went wrong with you, and I always shall.”
It was obviously quite as an afterthought that he added:
“Do you mind?”
“No,” said Elizabeth, slowly, “I don’t think I mind. But don’t look too close, Louis dear—not just now. It’s kinder not to.”
“All right,” said Louis.
Then he came over and stood beside her. “Lizabeth, if there’s anything I can do—any sort or kind of thing—you’re to let me know. You will, won’t you? You’re the best thing in my world, and anything that I can do for you would be the best day’s work I ever did. If you’ll just clamp on to that we shall be all right.”
Elizabeth looked up, but before she could speak, he bent down, kissed her hastily on the cheek, and went out of the room.
Elizabeth put her face in her hands and cried.