“Tell me how you got here?” she asked. They were sitting by the tea-table. “The roads are blocked, and it snowed all night as well as to-day.”
“Changing the subject rapidly was always one of your accomplishments. Kissing and roads—I see the connection to you.”
“Paul!”
“I started to drive,” he answered. “At last we stuck in a drift near Montague’s; so I came on snowshoes.”
“It was a dreadful tramp.”
“It was the best I ever had—with you at the end of it. I wonder if you will ever know? How soon will you marry me? I cannot stay at ‘Solitude,’ and fifteen miles is too far apart for you and me.”
“You never came back! You never wrote to me at ‘Shelton.’ I thought you did not care—that you despised me, and thought me a beast.”
“And you? You were going to marry someone else. I tried to stop you—”
“I believe I was going to run away the day of the wedding,” she said. “Wasn’t it ghastly?”
“Awful,” he said briefly. “Sylvia has promised to marry the Member for Hackney. Did she write to you?”