‘Why?’ asked Dulcie.
‘Why,’ said Desmond, ‘there’s times when I feel like a boat on the sea, all alone. I’ve neither kith nor kin, only friends. You’ll laugh at me, I know, but there’s times, when I’m by myself, I feel the mist rising to my eyes and the lump in my throat, thinking I’ve never known a father’s care nor a mother’s love.’
The bright face had lost its merry impudence for the moment, and the quick, swinging step slackened.
‘Laugh at you!’ repeated Dulcie. ‘I’ll never laugh at you for that. And I care for you, Desmond.’
‘And that might come to be the bitterest of all,’ said Desmond. ‘You’re like a star in the sky above me, Lady Dulcie. You’re a rich young lady, and I’m only a poor boy dependent on strangers. But come, now,’ he continued after a short pause, ‘I’ve answered your question, will you answer mine? Is it true what I hear all about the place, that you’re to marry Richard Conseltine?’
‘Nonsense!’ said Dulcie, flushing redly. ‘I’m not going to marry anybody!’
‘Ah!’ said Desmond dryly, ‘that’s what all the girls say, but they never mean it.’
‘I mean it. I think marriage is absurd. Don’t you?’
‘Sure I do,’ responded Desmond. ‘But the priest says it’s convenient, if the world is to continue. Tell me, now, what d’ye think of Master Richard?’
‘Think of him?’ said Dulcie slowly. ‘Oh, I think—I think he’s my cousin, and as stupid as girls’ cousins always are.’