At the foot of the stairs Pelleas met me with a manner of nothing but gravity.
“Pelleas!” I cried, “isn’t it delightful? Wasn’t it providential that they came to us?”
“Etarre,” said Pelleas solemnly, “I’m not at all sure that we oughtn’t to send them straight back to Chynmere Hall.”
If Pelleas had proposed persuading Lisa and Eric to forget each other I could have been no more amazed. Pelleas, who always pretends enormous unconcern in all romance and secretly works with all his might on the side of the adventure, Pelleas, to speak in austere fashion of sending two lovers home. What did he mean? And did he think that a course in the flora of Europe would make anybody any happier whatever?
“Pelleas,” I cried, “how can you? When we are so happy?”
“But you know we didn’t elope,” Pelleas argued.
“Wouldn’t you have loved me if we had?” I inquired reasonably.
“Of course I would,” cried Pelleas, “but—”
“Ah, well, then,” I finished triumphantly, “it’s the same way with them.”
I recall a distinct impression that I had the better of the argument.