“But you’re not going at once,” cried Flora. “Not⁠—not while we’re in all this trouble. Oh! please. If you go⁠—” She turned away a little.

“You want me to stay?” asked Blunt. He spoke deliberately but quite simply.

“We all⁠—”

“I meant you personally,” said Blunt, with directness.

Flora turned slowly back again and met his eyes. “I want you to stay,” she said, “if⁠—if that makes any difference.”

“It makes all the difference,” said Blunt.

There was a moment’s silence. They sat down on the stone seat by the goldfish pond. It seemed as though neither of them knew quite what to say next.

“It⁠—it’s such a lovely morning,” said Flora at last. “You know, I can’t help feeling happy, in spite⁠—in spite of everything. That’s awful, I suppose?”