but I felt that he had got in first when, before we had even entered the churchyard, he threw out—
“I want my own sort!”
It literally made me bound forward. “There are not many of your own sort, Miles!” I laughed. “Unless perhaps dear little Flora!”
“You really compare me to a baby girl?”
This found me singularly weak. “Don’t you, then, love our sweet Flora?”
“If I didn’t—and you, too; if I didn’t———!” he repeated as if retreating for a jump, yet leaving his thought so unfinished that, after we had come into the gate, another stop, which he imposed on me by the pressure of his arm, had become inevitable. Mrs. Grose and Flora had passed into the church, the other worshippers had followed, and we were, for the minute, alone among the old, thick graves. We had paused, on the path from the gate, by a low, oblong, table-like tomb.
“Yes, if you didn’t—?”
He looked, while I waited, at the graves. “Well, you know what!” But he didn’t move, and he presently produced something that made me drop straight down on the stone slab, as if suddenly to rest. “Does my uncle think what you think?”
