“Not fair in letting me think you were engaged,” he said.  “I’ve wasted so much time:  I’m not half civil enough to engaged girls,” he explained.

“You’ve been quite civil enough to us,” said Miss Morris, “as a courier, philosopher, and friend.  I’m very sorry we have to part company.”

“Part company!” exclaimed Carlton, in sudden alarm.  “But, I say, we mustn’t do that.”

“But we must, you see,” said Miss Morris.  “We must go back for the wedding, and you will have to follow the Princess Aline.”

“Yes, of course,” Carlton heard his own voice say.  “I had forgotten the Princess Aline.”  But he was not thinking of what he was saying, nor of the Princess Aline.  He was thinking of the many hours Miss Morris and he had been together, of the way she had looked at certain times, and of how he had caught himself watching her at others; how he had pictured the absent Mr. Abbey travelling with her later over the same route, and without a chaperon, sitting close at her side or holding her hand, and telling her just how pretty she was whenever he wished to do so, and without any fear of the consequences.  He remembered how ready she had been to understand what he was going to say before he had finished saying it, and how she had always made him show the best of himself, and had caused, him to leave unsaid many things that became common and unworthy when considered in the light of her judgment.  He recalled how impatient he had been when she was late at dinner, and how cross he was throughout one whole day when she had kept her room.  He felt with a sudden shock of delightful fear that he had grown to depend upon her, that she was the best companion he had ever known; and he remembered moments when they had been alone together at the table, or in some old palace, or during a long walk, when they had seemed to have the whole world entirely to themselves, and how he had consoled himself at such times with the thought that no matter how long she might be Abbey’s wife, there had been these moments in her life which were his, with which Abbey had had nothing to do.

Carlton turned and looked at her with strange wide-open eyes, as though he saw her for the first time.  He felt so sure of himself and of his love for her that the happiness of it made him tremble, and the thought that if he spoke she might answer him in the old, friendly, mocking tone of good-fellowship filled him with alarm.  At that moment it seemed to Carlton that the most natural thing in the world for them to do would be to go back again together over the road they had come, seeing everything in the new light of his love for her, and so travel on and on for ever over the world, learning to love each other more and more each succeeding day, and leaving the rest of the universe to move along without them.

He leaned forward with his arm along the back of the bench, and bent his face towards hers.  Her hand lay at her side, and his own closed over it, but the shock that the touch of her fingers gave him stopped and confused the words upon his tongue.  He looked strangely at her, and could not find the speech he needed.