rs of honest
vexation in her voice and eyes. "You _know_ I cannot do without you."
He rose to his knees, and never, it seemed to him, had she looked so
beautiful. She was a little out of breath, her dusky hair was
disordered, and there was an unwonted expression in her eyes, a strange
mingling of indignation and tenderness. For a moment they stared
unaffectedly at each other, each making discoveries.
"Oh!" he sighed at last; "whatever you please, my dear. Whatever you
please. I'm going to do as you wish, if you wish it, and be your friend
and forget all this"--he waved an arm--"loving."
There were signs of a recrudescence of grief, and, inarticulate as ever,
she sank to her knees close beside him.
"Let us sit quietly among these hyacinths," said Mr. Brumley. "And then
afterwards we will go back to the house and talk ... talk about our
Hostels."
He sat back and she remained kneeling.
"Of course," he said, "I'm yours--to do just as you will with. And we'll
work----. I've been a bit of a stupid brute. We'll work. For all those
people. It will be--oh! a big work, quite a big work. Big enough for us
to thank God for. Only----."
The sight of her panting lips had filled him with a wild desire, that
set every nerve aquivering, and yet for all that had a kind of
moderation, a reasonableness. It was a sisterly thing he had in mind. He
felt that if this one desire could be satisfied, then honour would be
satisfied, that he would cease grudging Sir Isaac--anything....
But for some moments he could not force himself to speak of this desire,
so great was his fear of a refusal.
"There's one thing," he said, and all his being seemed aquiver.
He looked hard at the trampled bluebells about their feet. "Never once,"
he went on, "never once in all these years--have we two
even--once--kissed.... It is such a little thing.... So much."
He stopped, breathless. He could say no more because of the beating of
his heart. And he dared not look at her face....
There was a swift, soft rustling as she moved....
She crouched down upon him and, taking his shoulder in her hand, upset
him neatly backwards, and, doing nothing by halves, had kissed the
astonished Mr. Brumley full upon his mouth.
THE END
The following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the
same author, and new fiction.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The War in the Air
_Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50 net._
"It is not every man who
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