"One tie's broken," he said, "and another's made. We're no longer the good friends we were, because you haven't told me."
Her white cheeks flooded with colour. She half closed her eyes.
"What, George?"
"That the moon is made of honey. I'm really grateful to Lambert for these few minutes. Don't expect many more. I can't see you go without a little jealousy, for there have been times when I've wanted you abominably, Betty."
They had reached the end of the verandah and paused there in a light that barely disclosed her wondering smile; her wistful, reminiscent expression.
"It's funny," she said with a little catch in her voice, "to look back on two children. I suppose I felt about the great George Morton as most girls did."
"You flatter me," he said. "Just what do you mean?"
"It's rather tearful one can laugh about such things," she answered. "So long ago! The great athlete's become a soldier!"
"The stable boy's become a slave," he laughed. "Oh, no. Most girls couldn't feel much sentiment about that kind of greatness."
"Hush!" she whispered. "You know the night you told me all that I thought it was a preliminary to your confessing how abominably you wanted me."