“No ... of course not.... Isn’t it hot? Why did I choose this walk? But most men get married sooner or later, and—you—don’t dislike women, do you? You’re not unmasculine or a crank! But as a matter of fact,” she added recklessly and breathlessly, “I’d rather you didn’t, I think.”
She thought he gave a little exclamation, but she could not be sure.
“Why would you rather—I didn’t?”
“Married friends are never the same as before they were married. Oh! here we are at the top at last! Isn’t the view worth the climb? No, please, don’t get married. I—I don’t want you to.”
What was she saying? She hardly knew, except that it was the truth, the plain, unvarnished truth. She had really hated the idea of his marrying anyone, even Pat. There was something in the air this warm summer afternoon that made her take a reckless joy in saying the things she should have decently hid.
“I—I don’t want you to,” she repeated, suddenly raising her eyes to his as they stood side by side, each apparently a little breathless still.
She found he was looking at her and the quiet strength of his face was all broken up. The eyes looked at her as they had looked once before. When? When she had been flirting with Frank Hamilton at her mother’s.
And suddenly she knew.
It was as though something that had always been hiding round the corner for many years unexpectedly came into view. And with the knowledge came a rush of joy, so great, so overpowering, that she reeled. Instinctively she put out her hands and he took them in his.