“That doesn’t make it any better for me. After you had done a thing that not one woman in a million—or one man either—could have done——”
“Oh yes, they could, if the idea had struck them. It was just that—a sudden inspiration. But you are getting excited, Dick, and I will not have it. As your medical attendant, I forbid you to think about Bir-ul-Malikat any more. I shall break off our re-engagement at once if you don’t talk about something else.”
“Yes, there it is. You have such an awful pull over me, Georgie. I can’t do without you, but you could get on very well without me. Confess now—couldn’t you?”
“By going back to England and joining the Forward Club, and impressing on the world that the grapes were sour?” asked Georgia. “No, I should have to keep to my old plan, and settle down to missionary work in Khemistan; then I should get a glimpse of you sometimes.”
“I don’t know whether you call that a pure motive? Yes, I think I see myself riding past a Zenana hospital every day, and about once a-week catching a distant view of you teaching a lot of native girls to roll up bandages.”
“And I can imagine myself rushing to the verandah to look after you when you had passed,” said Georgia. “It would be a modern version of Roland and his lady.”
“It would be far worse than never seeing one another at all.”
“Oh no, Dick—not worse, much better than that.”
“It would be much worse to me. I should have to look out for an appointment somewhere at the other end of the Empire.”
“Dick, how unkind of you to say such a thing!” There were tears very near to falling in Georgia’s eyes, but with an extraordinary access of tact Dick pretended not to notice them, and looked up at her with a friendly smile.