The sunlight had turned from white through gold to ochre. A few frogs had tentatively begun to croak. Too near the equator for twilight, it was Africa's heure du berger.
Dick began to talk. From what Norah told me, his themes seem to have dated from the early earnest years of the century. He pleaded the right of the Natural Mate over the Legal Spouse; he urged the barrenness of constancy Where Love is Not; he suggested that the world might be Well Lost for Love. And so on. For my part I never could see why 'All for Love' is a respectable sentiment and a subject for epics and tragedies, while other equally whole-hearted passions and sacrifices, say, 'All for Money' or 'for Food' are discredited. However, that's an opinion that neither Norah nor Dick shared.
Norah, of course, wasn't convinced by Dick's eloquence—no woman ever listened to what her lover said. But passion is as infectious as small-pox, and, if it lasts no longer, leaves no lighter scars. So, reluctantly on that perfect evening, her conscience gave ground and Dick's words began to reach her heart and his nearness her senses.
'Don't miss the best part of life,' he adjured her.
'Life looks its best from behind.'
'It isn't for any one as young and lovely to say that. Be brave, take a chance....'
This was perilous advice for the gambler's daughter.
'Supposing I wanted to take a chance ... with you, don't you see I've promised...'
'Are you willing to waste your whole life for two words mumbled in Hanover Square?'
'Don't be melodramatic, Dick!'