“‘Suppose I felt for you as you feel for me?’ I said. ‘Suppose I loved you dearly enough to trust you with the happiness of all my life to come?’
“I paused a moment to get my breath. It was unbearably still and close; the air seemed to have died when the night came.
“‘Would you be marrying me honorably,’ I went on, ‘if you married me in your present name?’
“His arm dropped from my waist, and I felt him give one great start. After that he sat by me, still, and cold, and silent, as if my question had struck him dumb. I put my arm round his neck, and lifted my head again on his shoulder. Whatever the spell was I had laid on him, my coming closer in that way seemed to break it.
“‘Who told you?’ He stopped. ‘No,’ he went on, ‘nobody can have told you. What made you suspect—?’ He stopped again.
“‘Nobody told me,’ I said; ‘and I don’t know what made me suspect. Women have strange fancies sometimes. Is Midwinter really your name?’
“‘I can’t deceive you,’ he answered, after another interval of silence; ‘Midwinter is not really my name.’
“I nestled a little closer to him.
“‘What is your name?’ I asked.
“He hesitated.