"Marry?"
"Yes. When I am seventeen. The law of Nareda—your Highland law, too, father says—will not let a girl be married until she is that age. In a month I am seventeen."
"Oh!" And I stammered, "But why are you going to marry?"
"Because father tells me to. And then I shall have fine clothes: it is promised me. And go to live in the Highlands, perhaps. And see things; and be a woman, not a ragged boy forbidden to show myself; and—"
I was barely touching her. It seemed as though something—some vision of happiness which had been given me—were fading, were being snatched away. I was conscious of my hand moving to touch hers.
"Why do you marry—unless you're in love? Are you?"
Her gaze like a child came up to meet mine. "I never thought much about that. I have tried not to. It frightened me—until to-night."
She pushed me gently away. "Don't. Let's not talk of him. I'd rather not."
"But why are you dressed as a boy?"