Part 30 (1/2)
”Hermia,” he said briefly at last, ”you'll have to be careful.”
”Well--aren't I?” reproachfully.
”I'm not sure it's wise of us to pa.s.s through the larger towns.”
”Why not?”
”You might be recognized.”
”I'll have to take that chance. If you remove the element of danger you take away half the charm of our pilgrimage.”
”I'd rather the danger were mine--not yours,” he said soberly.
She laughed at his uneasiness. ”I've absolved you from all responsibility. You are merely my Oedipus, the _vade mec.u.m_ of my unsentimental journey.”
But he didn't laugh.
”I'll warrant you De Folligny doesn't think that,” he said.
”Well--suppose he doesn't. Are you and I responsible for the unpleasant cast of other people's thoughts? My conscience is clear.
So is yours. _You_ know how unsentimental our journey is. So do I.
Why, Philidor, can't you see? It wouldn't be quite right if it _wasn't_ unsentimental.”
”And how about my--er--my shrinking susceptibilities?” he asked.
”Oh, that! You are losing your sense of humor,” she said promptly.
”The worst of your enemies or the best of your friends would hardly call you sentimental. I could not feel safer on that score if I were under the motherly wing of Aunt Harriett Westfield!”
She was a bundle of contradictions and said exactly what came into her head. He examined her again, not sure whether it were better to be annoyed or merely amused, and saw again the wide violet gaze. He looked away but he didn't seem quite happy.
”I suppose that would be the truth,” he said slowly. ”Unfortunately our vulgar conventions make no such nice distinctions.”
”But what is the difference if _we_ make them?”
”None, of course. But I would much prefer it if we gave Verneuil a wide berth.”
”Oh, I'm not afraid. Fate is always kind to the utterly irresponsible. That's their compensation for being so. What does it matter to-morrow so long as we are happy to-day?”
His expression softened.
”You are still contented then?”
”Blissfully so. Don't I look it?”
”If you didn't I wouldn't dare to ask you.”
By ten o'clock Hermia was hungry again and when they came to a small village she vowed that without food she would walk no more.
”Very well then,” said Markham. ”We must earn the right to do it.”