She joined him before he had finished and mounted her own horse, saying casually, “It is late. We must return.” He mounted and rode beside her in silence.
At last he remarked, “You are going away this afternoon?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then where can I see you?”
“You will have to come to my home.”
There was a pause. “It will be a difficult experience,” he observed. “You will have to help me through it.”
She answered, promptly, “You must come as any other man would come. You must learn to do that—you must simply not know what other people are thinking.”
At which he smiled sadly. “There is nothing in that. When everybody in the world is thinking one thing about you, you find there’s no use pretending not to know what it is.”
There he was again—simple and direct. He had a vision of the hostility of her relatives, the horror of her friends; he went on to speak his thoughts quite baldly. Was she prepared to face these difficulties? She might have the courage, she might not; but at least she must be forewarned, and not encounter them blindly. She said, “My own people will be kind, I assure you.” And when he smiled dubiously, she added, “Leave it to me. I promise you I’ll manage them.”