Then came a silence.
Finally Peter said, “Will you please tell me what you meant by talking about five years!”
“Oh! Really, Peter,” Leonore hastened to explain, in an anxious way, as if Peter had charged her with murder or some other heinous crime. “I did think so. I didn’t find it out till—till that night. Really! Won’t you believe me?”
Peter smiled. He could have believed anything.
“Now,” he said, “I know at last what Anarchists are for.”
His ready acceptance of her statement made Leonore feel a slight prick of conscience. She said: “Well—Peter—I mean—that is—at least, I did sometimes think before then—that when I married, I’d marry you—but I didn’t think it would come so soon. Did you? I thought we’d wait. It would have been so much more sensible!”
“I’ve waited a long time,” said Peter.
“Poor dear!” said Leonore, putting her other hand over Peter’s, which held hers.
Peter enjoyed this exquisite pleasure in silence for a time, but the enjoyment was too great not to be expressed So he said;
“I like your hands almost as much as your eyes.”