“I was thinking of starting a branch of the C. E. T. S. here, and asking you to join it,” said Angela, with the calmness of despair.
“Me turn teetotaller? I should die of it!”
“Your adherence would have strengthened my hands, but, of course, since you feel like this, there is no more to be said.”
“Do you want me to join?”
“It does not matter. I sha’n’t start the branch now.”
Bernard walked on in silence. Six miles an hour was his usual rate of walking, four when with Dolly, or, as he supposed, with any other able-bodied female; but Angela was used to crowded London pavements and the very deliberate pace of lazy Lal. She did not protest, she was too much out of heart to mind being out of breath. She sadly supposed that Bernard was not observant. Great was her surprise when, remarking, “I guess we’re going too fast,” he reduced his pace to three miles an hour and rather doubtfully offered his arm.
“I suppose it’s not the proper thing,” was his comment when she declined it. “Dolly said so, but then she doesn’t know everything; and you do take arms in to dinner. I’ll remember another time. Look here, are you set on this temperance business?”
“I think it a noble cause,” said Angela, wearily standing to her guns.
“Then I’ll take the pledge for a month.”
“You will?”