Part 30 (1/2)
”I can't help it,” he said like an unhappy child. ”I can't help it.” And he put his hand to his head with an uncertain movement.
”Oh.” With a practical air she sought for an impersonal topic. ”Tell me about Paris.”
”Paris.” There was no need for him to speak above a murmur. ”I want to take you there.”
”Do you?”
He leant lower. ”Will you come?”
Her eyes moved under his, but they did not turn aside. ”I think I'm going there with some one else,” she said softly, and before her vision of this eager lover there popped a spruce picture of Uncle Alfred.
”That isn't true,” Halkett said, but despair was in his voice.
She was angered instantly. ”I beg your pardon?”
”It isn't true,” he said again.
”Very well,” she said, and she began to walk away, but he called after her vehemently, bitterly, ”Because I won't let you go!”
She laughed at that and came back to her place, to say indulgently, ”How silly you are! I'm only going with an aged uncle!”
”But he's not the man to take you there.”
”No.”
”Come with me now.”
”Shall I?”
”Get up beside me and I'll carry you away.”
She was held by his trouble, but she spoke lightly. ”Could he swim with us both across the Channel? No, I don't think I want to come tonight.
Some day--”
”When?”
”Oh,” she said on a high note, ”perhaps when I'm very tired of things.”
”You're tired already.”
”Not so much as that. And we're talking nonsense, and I must go.”
”Not yet.”
”I must. It's nearly time for bed, and I'm not sure that it's polite of you to sit on that horse while I stand here.”
”Come up and you'll see how well he goes.”
”He wouldn't bear us both.”