He interrupted himself to suggest:
"You had better tell him at once that you are happy."
He had stammered a little, and Flora de Barral uttered a deliberate and
concise "Yes."
A short silence ensued. She withdrew her hand from his arm. They
stopped. Anthony looked as if a totally unexpected catastrophe had
happened.
"Ah," he said. "You mind . . . "
"No! I think I had better," she murmured.
"I dare say. I dare say. Bring him along straight on board to-morrow.
Stop nowhere."
She had a movement of vague gratitude, a momentary feeling of peace which
she referred to the man before her. She looked up at Anthony. His face
was sombre. He was miles away and muttered as if to himself:
"Where could he want to stop though?"
"There's not a single being on earth that I would want to look at his
dear face now, to whom I would willingly take him," she said extending
her hand frankly and with a slight break in her voice, "but
you--Roderick."
He took that hand, felt it very small and delicate in his broad palm.
"That's right. That's right," he said with a conscious and hasty
heartiness and, as if suddenly ashamed of the sound of his voice, turned
half round and absolutely walked away from the motionless girl.
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