“When are you to see Mr. Skeel?” he asked abruptly.
“This afternoon.... He asked if he might hope to find me alone.... I didn’t know exactly what to say. So I told him about the rose arbour.... He said he would pay his respects to your mother and sister and then ask their permission to see me there alone.”
They came to the veranda; Dulcie seated herself on the steps and he remained standing on the grass in front of her.
“Remember,” he said quietly, “that I can never care 353 less for you than I do at this moment.... Don’t forget what I say, Dulcie.”
She looked up at him, happy, wondering, even perhaps a little apprehensive in her uncertainty as to his meaning.
He did not seem to care to enlighten her further. His mood changed, too, even as she looked at him, and she saw the troubled gravity fade and the old gaiety glimmering in his eyes:
“I’ve a mind to put you on a horse, Sweetness, and see what happens,” he remarked.
“Oh, Garry! I don’t want to tumble off before you!”
“Before whom had you rather land on that red head of yours?” he inquired. “I’d be more sympathetic than many.”
“I’d rather have Thessa watch me break my neck. Do you mind? It’s horrid to be so sensitive, I suppose. But, Garry, I couldn’t bear to have you see me so shamefully awkward and demoralised.”