“I don’t care what she thinks.”

Miss Wilkinson gave a little laugh of pleasure.  They had no sooner finished supper than he said to her: 

“Are you going to keep me company while I smoke a cigarette?”

“Why don’t you let Miss Wilkinson rest?” said Mrs. Carey.  “You must remember she’s not as young as you.”

“Oh, I’d like to go out, Mrs. Carey,” she said, rather acidly.

“After dinner walk a mile, after supper rest a while,” said the Vicar.

“Your aunt is very nice, but she gets on my nerves sometimes,” said Miss Wilkinson, as soon as they closed the side-door behind them.

Philip threw away the cigarette he had just lighted, and flung his arms round her.  She tried to push him away.

“You promised you’d be good, Philip.”

“You didn’t think I was going to keep a promise like that?”

“Not so near the house, Philip,” she said.  “Supposing someone should come out suddenly?”

He led her to the kitchen garden where no one was likely to come, and this time Miss Wilkinson did not think of earwigs.  He kissed her passionately.  It was one of the things that puzzled him that he did not like her at all in the morning, and only moderately in the afternoon, but at night the touch of her hand thrilled him.  He said things that he would never have thought himself capable of saying; he could certainly never have said them in the broad light of day; and he listened to himself with wonder and satisfaction.

“How beautifully you make love,” she said.

That was what he thought himself.

“Oh, if I could only say all the things that burn my heart!” he murmured passionately.

It was splendid.  It was the most thrilling game he had ever played; and the wonderful thing was that he felt almost all he said.  It was only that he exaggerated a little.  He was tremendously interested and excited in the effect he could see it had on her.  It was obviously with an effort that at last she suggested going in.

“Oh, don’t go yet,” he cried.

“I must,” she muttered.  “I’m frightened.”

He had a sudden intuition what was the right thing to do then.

“I can’t go in yet.  I shall stay here and think.  My cheeks are burning.  I want the night-air.  Good-night.”

He held out his hand seriously, and she took it in silence.  He thought she stifled a sob.  Oh, it was magnificent!  When, after a decent interval during which he had been rather bored in the dark garden by himself, he went in he found that Miss Wilkinson had already gone to bed.