‘That’s right. As long as I _know_. I thought yesterday.... But I suppose it was the rabbit?’ She shuddered, and nodded her head, remembering her dream, unable to speak. He said in an amused, tender, big-man-to-little-woman way: ‘You poor little thing to be so upset.’ She laughed in response, deprecatingly, drearily. He tightened his arm round her, sighed happily and said: ‘I can’t believe it.’ ‘Nor can I.’ ‘I didn’t sleep a wink last night.’ ‘Nor did I.’ ‘After all these years.... Do you know, I’ve been in love with you ever since I’ve known you? Never anybody else for a moment. But I didn’t dare hope.... I wonder what Roddy will say when we tell him.’ ‘I wonder.’ ‘You know I was almost sure not so very long ago that if you liked any one of us specially it was Roddy.’ ‘Were you really, Martin?’ ‘Yes, and what’s more I thought he was bound to fall in love with you. God, I was jealous!’ ‘Jealous of Roddy? Were you? How ridiculous!’ ‘Not really ridiculous. Roddy’s so terribly nice and attractive, it seemed only natural you should prefer him to a dull chap like me.’ ‘He didn’t ever _say_ anything, did he, Martin?’ ‘Not he. Roddy’s the darkest horse I know.’ ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ She laughed. ‘I suppose heaps of people fall in love with him?’ ‘Yes,’ he said gravely. ‘He’s run after all right.’ ‘Does he--do you suppose he--falls in love himself, much?’ ‘Oh, more or less, I suppose.’ ‘Not seriously?’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘Not very seriously I don’t think.’ ‘Perhaps he _was_ a tiny bit in love with me ... for a bit....’ ‘I dare say he was. I don’t see how anybody could help being,’ he said with light tenderness, dropping quick kisses on her hair. ‘And then I suppose he stopped.... And found somebody else....’ ‘Perhaps he did. Don’t let’s worry about him anyway. He and I have different ideas about--all that sort of thing. He’s rather naughty and spoilt I think--though he is such a good chap,’ he added hastily, as if fearful of sounding disloyal. She persisted, in anguish: ‘How do you mean, naughty and spoilt, Martin?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He was embarrassed, unwilling to give his friend away. ‘A bit of a sensation-hunter perhaps.’ That was it then: she had been a new sensation: one that had quickly palled, because she had been so swiftly, so entirely yielded up to him. She should have whetted his appetite by offering only a little at a time and then withdrawing it: so, he might still be desirous of her. Instead she had satiated him at the outset. She would know better next time.... But there would be no next time. Instead, there was Martin now who said: ‘Won’t you kiss me?’ She looked at him, aching with tears that were like an inward bleeding; and put her lips on his cheek for half a second.