He rose, gloomily wondering when he should see her again. "Well," he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "good night."
"You are going?" she asked in surprise. "But why? I want you to stop here."
Lionel's heart bounded, and then he looked at her. He was tempted to stay, for she was unlike any other girl he had ever met. But that very reason made him pause. He knew he wanted to kiss her and that he must not. He thought he was not in love with her, because he ought not to be. He knew that he would be in love with her if Lukos were dead. And because he felt that she mattered, he was resolved not to hurt her.
"I am sorry," he said, dropping his light tone. "I should like to, but—no!"
"Why not?" she asked, looking steadily at him. He looked as steadily at her.
"Convention," he said frankly. "If I stop here and people get to know, you will be slandered. That is why."
She was silent for a moment and then said softly: "You are better than I thought.... You must certainly stop. As for 'people'—well, I know the world and its miry ways. I know and I do not care."
"Your friends?" he suggested, rejoicing in her.
"I have only acquaintances, and they do not matter. Will that satisfy you?"
He fought against the temptation with a jest, for he felt that the pretty creature could not really know: "You forget the disappointment of Mrs. Barker."