“You are so wonderful,” he said. “I am just realising that I began to fall in love with you a long time ago.”
The declining sun sent a red shaft across the fields, painting every tree-trunk, gilding bramble and brake. A single ray touched the girl’s white neck and turned her copper-tinted hair to burning gold.
“Do you love me? Can you love me, that way, Dulcie?”
She rose abruptly, and he rose too, retaining her hands; but as she turned her head from him he saw her mouth quiver.
“Dearest—dearest!” But she interrupted him:
“I want to tell you—that I don’t understand why I should be called by my mother’s maiden name.... I w-want you to know that I don’t understand it ... if that would make a difference—in your c-caring for me.... And I wish you to know that—that I love and worship her memory—and that I am happy and proud—and proud—to bear her name.”
“My darling——”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dulcie.”