"I wouldn't—presume to do such a thing," he stammered, somewhat scared. "I think love is serious. It's like an invention: sometimes it lies deep down inside you, great and quiet—and at other times it racks you and keeps you from sleeping."
"Oho!" cried Emmy. "So you know all about it. You are in love. Now, tell me, who is she?"
"It was many years ago," said Septimus. "She wore pigtails and I burned a hole in her pinafore with a toy cannon and she slapped my face. Afterwards she married a butcher."
He looked at her with his wan smile, and again raised his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Emmy was not convinced.
"I believe," she said, "you have fallen in love with Zora."
He did not reply for a moment or two; then he touched her arm.
"Please don't say that," he said, in an altered tone.
Emmy edged up close to him, as they walked. It was her nature, even while she teased, to be kind and caressing.
"Not even if it's true? Why not?"
"Things like that are not spoken of," he said soberly. "They're only felt."