‘Afraid of you—and me.’
Later on when he was gone she must make herself think of that. It might have power to hurt: she could not tell now, with his unmasked, disturbed face watching her. Now there was nothing but depth under depth of welling happiness.
‘You know, Roddy,’ she said after a silence, ‘the awful thing about you is that I can never pick up again where we left off. To-night you’ve talked to me as I’ve always longed for you to talk to me, as if we could trust each other, as if we were two creatures of the same sort alone together. Don’t you feel we know each other better after to-night, Roddy?’
He was silent for a moment, his eyes twinkling; then he said:
‘I feel you’ve made me say a great many indiscreet things.’
‘Poor Roddy! You’d better go, before I wring something out of you you’ll regret to your life’s end,’ she said bitterly. ‘You know I shan’t rest until I’ve forced you to tell me all your secrets. And when you have, I’ll go and tell them to everybody else.’
She shut her eyes and turned her face from him. There was a long silence.
‘Don’t be cross with me,’ he said in the end.
‘I’m not.’
‘Didn’t I tell you I was inadequate?’