You are not going to take
my love, my only joy, my one prize away from me?"
After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanically
across the twisted, gasping back.
"Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn't. But I've had to play a part,
and it's not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it's been,
because you seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I
went away?"
He was gripped again, shaken a little. "No, don't leave me. Wait.
It won't be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets
over a girl's timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don't stand
dumb; tell me that she does."
"She does," Pete repeated tonelessly.
"I'm sorry I struck you. I have a devil's temper. And I think of you
as still a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have
beaten you." He put this forward as though it were a reasonable
excuse.
"Yes." Pete smiled grimly. "I can remember your beatings." He drew
himself away. "Shall we go back?"
Hugh still held him, though at arm's length. "First I must have a
promise from you." He spoke sternly.
"What do you want?"
"I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the
end.
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