"Because I could then say to you all the things that are in my
heart--aye, that are almost bursting from my lips. I--I can't say them
now, you know," he said, and she understood his delicacy. For some
minutes she sat in silence watching him as he clumsily mixed the
drinks and put the water over the alcohol blaze. Suddenly he turned
to her with something like alarm in his voice. "By George, you don't
suppose they'll pursue you?"
"Oh, wouldn't that be jolly? It would be like the real story-book--the
fairy and the ogres and all that. But," dubiously, "I'm sorely afraid
they consider me rubbish, Still--" looking up encouragingly--"my
brother would try to find me if he--if he knew that I was gone."
To her surprise, he whistled softly and permitted a frown of anxiety
to creep over his face. "I hadn't thought of that," he observed
reflectively. Then he seemed to throw off the momentary symptoms of
uneasiness, adding, with a laugh: "I daresay nothing will happen. The
storm would put a stop to all idea of pursuit."
"Let them pursue," she said, a stubborn light in her eyes. "I am my
own mistress, Mr. Shaw. They can't take me, willy nilly, as if I were
a child, you know."
"That's quite true. You don't understand," he said slowly, his back to
her.
"You mean the law? Is it different from ours?"
"Not that. The--er--situation. You see, they might think it a trifle
odd if they found you here--with me. Don't you understand?" He turned
to her with a very serious expression.
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