"Why need we care what they say?" he asked sedulously. What better opportunity would he have than this for feeling his way? "We know that there have been no misdeeds."
She touched the horse with the tip of her whip, and he bounded forward. "Is it not the prince of misdeeds that we love one another?" she said after a moment.
"We cannot help that."
"But since it is true, what are we going to do about it, my friend?"
"Do? Lydia," he whispered eagerly and bent his cheek toward hers, "it is for you to say."
She recoiled chastely from his endearment, though she thrilled at the proximity. "Is it? I am not sure. I asked you to come with me this morning in order to find out. It appears that we have reached the parting of the ways."
"The parting?" he queried apprehensively.
"Not for us, unless we choose."
"Ah." It was the sigh of an ardent lover.
"Wait. I will tell you by and by when we can talk it out freely." She turned and smiled on him with an effulgent grace such as she had never in her life lavished on Maxwell. Therein she threw wide open for a moment the casement of her soul and let him perceive the completeness of the havoc he had wrought.