“Bet she won’t.”

“She will.  You’re not the only person the darling understands, though you are her spoilt boy.”

She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her normal self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to keep pace with her.  He had still more ado to unravel his own tangle of thought and emotion.  A few clear points emerged from a chaos of sensations, like mountain peaks out of a mist.  He knew she was all of a sudden distractingly lovely; that her charm and obstinacy combined had thoroughly churned him up; that all the same, she was right about his unreadiness for marrying now; that he hoped she didn’t utterly despise him; that he hated the idea of leaving her more than ever....

Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he still had a lot to say.

“Tara—­why are you sprinting like this?” he broke out, reproachfully.  “Are you angry with me?”

She vouchsafed him a small smile.

“Not yet.  But I soon will be, if you don’t take care.  And I’m dangerous in a temper!”

“Don’t I know that?  I once had a scratch that didn’t heal for a month.  But do walk slower.  You’re not chucking me—­for good—­eh?”

She slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this new and hopelessly intractable Roy.

“Really, I’ve never known you ask so many foolish questions in one hour before.  You must have drunk some potion up on the moor!  Have you forgotten you’re my Bracelet-bound Brother?”

“But that doesn’t bar—­the other thing.  It’s not one of the Prayer-book affinities!  I say, Tara—­you might promise to think it over.  If you can’t do that much, I won’t believe you care a bean about me, for all you say——­”

Her blue eyes flashed at that—­genuine fire; and she stood still again, confronting him.

“Roy—­be quiet!  You make me furious.  I want to slap you.  First you suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into a temper by behaving like a spoilt boy, who won’t take ‘No’ for an answer.”

Roy straightened himself sharply.  “I’m not spoilt—­and I’m not a boy.  I’m a man.”

“Well then, try and behave like one.”

The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how sharply she had hurt him, and, with a swift softening of her expressive face, she flung out a hand.  He held it hard.  And suddenly she leaned nearer; her lips tremulous; her eyes melting into a half smile.

“Roy—­darling,” she murmured, barely above her breath.  “You are really—­a little bit of all three.  That’s part of your deliciousness and troublesomeness.  And it’s not your fault—­the spoiling.  We’ve all helped.  I’ve been as bad as the others.  But this time—­please believe—­I simply, utterly can’t—­even for you.”

Words went from him.  He could only cling to her hand.

But with a deft movement she freed herself—­and fled round the corner of the house; leaving him in a state of confusion worse confounded, to seek his mother and the outraged teapot—­alone.