‘Miss Alison,’ he began—and could get no further.
‘Well?’ she asked with that distracting lift of her lashes. ‘Is the precious tackle out of gear?’
Her coolness almost angered him and gave him sudden command of his tongue. ‘Tackle? D’you really suppose I came out here to catch trout?’
‘You said so last night. And you seemed to be making elaborate arrangements⸺’
‘So I was—to get half an hour alone with you,’ he announced bluntly, and saw the ghost of a blush creep up under her skin. He wanted simply to take her in his arms without more ado. Instead, he sat down close to the rock, plunged his hands in the heather, and leaned towards her.
‘I was trying to tell you last night. Didn’t you understand?’
‘N-no. I thought the music and—the sentiment had rather carried you away.’
‘It was you who carried me away. The music was a kind of safety-valve, that’s all.’ He leaned still nearer. ‘Bel—is there a ghost of a chance for me? Is it sheer conceit and impertinence on my part to ask—so soon?’
‘No—oh no.’ And suddenly she covered her face as if the intensity of his gaze affected her like strong sunlight.