"The Ensign knows she oughtn't to talk like that," Laura said. Lindsay
marked with a surge of pleasure that she was flushed and seemed
perturbed.
"What she said was quite true," he ventured.
"But--anybody would think----"
"What would anybody think? Shall we keep to this side of the road? It's
quieter. What would anybody think?"
"Oh, silly things." Laura threw up her head with a half-laugh. "Things I
needn't mention."
Lindsay was silent for an instant. Then "Between us?" he asked, and she
nodded.
Their side of the street, along the square, was nearly empty. He found
her hand and drew it through his arm. "Would you mind so very much," he
said, "if those silly things were true?" He spoke as if to a child. His
passion was never more clearly a single object to him, divorced from all
complicating and non-essential impressions of her. "I would give all I
possess to have it so," he told her, catching at any old foolish phrase
that would serve.
"I don't believe you mean anything like all you say, Mr. Lindsay." Her
head was bent and she kept her hand within his arm. He seemed to be a
circumstance that brought her reminiscences of how one behaved
sentimentally toward a young man with whom there was no serious
entanglement.
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