She turned to look at him, and below the broad brim of her charming hat her face was grave and sweet.
"Look here, Muriel, if I wanted a girl to marry me, would she mind that I had given Clare something—something I'll never have to give again?"
"Most girls wouldn't," Muriel said solemnly. "Very few women marry the man whom they first loved. Very few men marry the girl who first attracted them. When they do, those marriages don't seem to be the happiest."
He sighed with a great relief. "You really think so?"
"Yes."
Again they paused. So quietly they stood that a squirrel rattled nimbly down the tree beside them and flashed across the path. Then Godfrey spoke again, stammering badly, but smiling down at Muriel:
"Muriel, with everything that I didn't give to Clare, I love you. Will you marry me?"
She did not speak.
"I know," he went on, "that you know all about me. I've told you about Clare. But I shan't love her again. Anyway she's going to marry that fellow from Austria. That's all quite over. And I believe that all the time, if I hadn't been a fool, I should have wanted you. You understand me better than anyone, and I don't believe that you're the kind of girl who'd want a fellow so much to love her that way—you're too sensible."
Still she did not speak, but smoothed with her soft fingers a broad leaf of the climbing hop plant that spread twisting green tendrils across the hedge before them.