“Oh, do you think that your little Jane is going to let you philander?”
“I shan’t want to philander. If that’s the way you put it.”
“So you think you’re in—love with her.”
“I know I am,” the red came up in his cheeks, but he stuck to it manfully. “It’s different from anything—ever that I’ve felt before.”
“They all say that, don’t they, every time?”
“Don’t be so—cynical.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not. Well, I shall miss you, Ricky, dear.”
That was all, just that plaintive note. But Adelaide’s plaintiveness was always effective.
So after tea they walked in the garden, and sat under the plum tree, and looked out upon the river—where the shadows were rose-red in the setting sun, and Adelaide said, “My life is like that—my sun has set.”
Frederick reached out a sympathetic hand. “Don’t say that, old girl.”