“Yes, don’t you understand? This is going to be ours, whatever happens. Besides, what is there that could happen?”
Paul kissed her.
“I almost wish——” he said.
“What do you wish?”
“That the village knew everything—that it could judge me as an Englishman who had made a mess of life in his own country.”
She held his arms.
“Mon chéri, perhaps, some day, we will tell them, but of what have you to be ashamed? Let us win them first. How I wish we had wood for that floor.”
Brent held her close.
“Yes, that was my promise. Do you think it is easy for me to hold out?—and yet, I’m going to hold out for six months. I’ll win Beaucourt before I ask you to marry me.”
She stroked his cheek.