He lit a cigarette and said, close-lipped, eyes fixed on the grass:
‘Does all this mean you want me to understand you’ve—changed your mind and wish to cry off?’
She threw out her arms dramatically, crying:
‘Can’t I say anything? Can’t I say anything without being misunderstood?... being....’
‘I’ve never seen you like this, Judith.’ He got up and stood looking at her in despair. ‘It worries me. I don’t understand.’
‘It’s not customary, I suppose, in an engaged young lady....’
She shut her eyes, and the tears scorched their lids bitterly.
‘Judy, what is it? Oh, Judy!’
‘Oh, Martin!’ Hands pressed to forehead, voice a faint moan, she struggled on: ‘Only there are—some things—aren’t there?—there might be things which can’t be told. Things one must forget—try to—at once——’
‘Yes. Yes. If you say so,’ he soothed and whispered.