"At last!" he said, drawing a long breath--"_At last_!"
He lay looking up at her, his long face working with emotion--the face of
an intellectual, with that deep scar on the temple, where a fragment of
shrapnel had struck him on the first day of the Somme advance.
"Unkind Helena!" he said, in a low voice that shook--"_unkind Helena_!"
Her lips framed a retort. Then suddenly the tears rushed into her eyes,
and she covered them with her hands.
"I'm not unkind. I'm afraid!"
"Afraid of what?"
"I told you," she said piteously, "I didn't want to marry--I didn't want
to be bound!"
"And you haven't changed your mind at all?"
She didn't answer. There was silence a moment. Then she said abruptly:
"Do you want to hear secrets, Geoffrey?"
He pondered.
"I don't know. I expect I guess them."
"What do you guess?" She lifted a proud face. He touched her hand
tenderly.
"I guess that when you came here--you were unhappy?"
Her lip trembled.
"I was--very unhappy."
"And now?" he asked, caressing the hand he held.
"Well, now--I've walked myself back into--into common sense.
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