“Yes, and no,” she answered frankly. “I was not sure it was you, of course, and I did not venture to ask, but I knew you were in the neighborhood, and that such an act would be in every way characteristic. I was certain you would come if you knew, and I—I, well really, I hoped it was.”
In spite of a slight effort at restraint I groped in the darkness until I touched her hand. For the moment she permitted me to retain it, as if unconsciously, within my grasp.
“Why?” I questioned, scarcely relying upon my own voice.
“Oh, one always trusts friends more readily than strangers, and I have seen you in danger before, and possess such confidence in your courage and resource.”
“But Miss Minor took particular care to inform me you felt little or no interest in me—that you never even spoke of me except as she compelled you to do so.”
For a moment she did not answer, and then with a light laugh said: “Did she, really? How very kind of her, and how extremely intimate you must have become to draw forth so frank a confession. However, Captain Wayne, you must not give credence to all you hear about me, even from Celia. You know one does not usually give public expression to one's more secret thoughts, and I can assure you I have always been most deeply interested whenever you were the subject of our conversations.”
“Her words made me feel I might be an intruder on your privacy.”
“You are never that. Cold as I appeared only a few hours ago, I was yet thinking of you as I entered the arbor. Perhaps that was why the sight meeting my eyes proved such a shock.”
Possibly she felt our conversation growing dangerously intimate, for in the silence which ensued she gently withdrew her hand. As she did so my fingers chanced to touch the plain gold ring she wore. It was like a dash of water in my face, and instantly brought back to me our common danger.
“How constant the firing continues,” she said at last, as I sat struggling dumbly with temptation.