She checked a sob.
'It's a long way,' she sighed.
'Are you tired?' His voice was gentle.
'Yes, dreadfully.'
'Then let us sit down again.'
'No, I must go on. I must get back.'
'If you would talk to me, you wouldn't notice the distance.'
'I don't want to talk. I'm thinking. When we get to the bridge you can
go back, can't you? There will be lights and I shall be quite safe.'
'Very well, but I wish you'd tell me what's the matter.'
'I'm very unhappy,' Henrietta said with a sob.
'What on earth for? Look here,'--he touched her arm--'did Christabel
say anything?'
'I don't know why it is.'
'Are you going to cry?'
'It's no good crying.'
He held the arm now quite firmly and they faced each other. 'You'd
better tell me the whole story.'
Her lips quivered. She wished he would loosen his grip and hoped he
would go on holding her for ever. It was a moment of mingled ecstasy
and sadness. 'Oh,' she almost wailed, 'can't I be unhappy if I want
to?'
He gave a short laugh, saying, 'Poor little girl,' and stooping,
kissed her on the mouth. She endured that kiss willingly for a moment
and then, very lightly, struck him in the face.
6
Afterwards there was some satisfaction in thinking that she had done
the dramatic thing--what the pure-minded heroine always did to the
villain; but at the time the action was spontaneous and unconsidered.
Henrietta was not really avenging an insult: she was simply expressing
her annoyance at her pleasure in it.
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