“But Mary?” she suggested, and I knew from her tone that she had been thinking deeply of her.
“Ours was a mere boy and girl liking,” I hastened to assure her. “Ask her, and she will tell you the same. We never really loved.”
She smiled, rather dubiously I thought.
“But surely you are aware that she loves you even now,” Eva answered.
“Loves me!” I echoed in surprise. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. Since we parted not a single word of affection has ever been uttered between us.”
“And you actually do not love her?” she asked in deep earnestness, looking straight into my eyes. “Are you really certain?”
“I do not,” I answered. “I swear I don’t.”
The boat was drifting, and with a swift stroke of the oars I ran her bows into the bank. Overhead the larks were singing their joyous songs and the hot air seemed to throb with the humming of a myriad insects. The afternoon was gloriously sunny, and away in the meadow on the opposite bank a picnic party were busy preparing their tea amid peals of feminine laughter.
“Well,” she sighed, “I can only regret that you have spoken as you have to-day. I regret it the more because I esteem your friendship highly, Mr Urwin. We might have been friends—but lovers we may never be!”
“Why never?” I inquired, acutely disappointed.