But I dare not accept it. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. It would be the culmination of her plan. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. “I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.
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