“Oh, I am stronger than I look. I am tough—really.”
She brought out the incongruous epithet so prettily that he put back his head and laughed.
“If I had any authority over you, you should not play tricks with yourself,” he said, in grave playfulness.
“But you have a great deal of authority over me. I should never dream of disobeying you.”
He leaned his body forward, his hands resting on the platform edge behind him, and looked at her earnestly.
“Do you think so much of me as that?” he asked, in a low voice.
“Why, of course, I think everything of you,” replied Yvonne, innocently. “Don’t you know that?”
An answer was on his lips, but, happening to look round, he caught Mrs. Winstanley’s ironical glance, an off-switch to sentiment. He stroked a grizzling whisker and drew himself up.
“I mustn’t keep the Bishop waiting,” he said.
“Nor I, Mrs. Winstanley.”