"You are," I said.
"Me?"
Her eyes opened wide. There was the most delightfully alluring little
smile, half demure, half mischievous, playing around her lips. Then, as
I took in her whole sweet personality, as I looked at her and thought
how the next few moments were to decide whether that sweet and gracious
personality were to belong to me for the remainder of our lives, or
not--my pulses were bounding and beating at such a rate that I wondered
how I should get out even two consecutive and coherent words. Yet it
must be done, now and here.
"Listen, Beryl," I began. "There is something I want you to hear, and
that you must hear. I--"
"Hullo! Hi, you good people! Hold on a bit and give us a chance to
come up."
And that infernal Trask came clattering upon our heels, having spotted
us from the road which led from his place. Well, there was an end of
everything. My opportunity was gone--for that day, at any rate; and I
hold a superstition to the effect that opportunities have a way of not
recurring.
"Thought I'd ride over and make an evening of it at your place, Miss
Matterson," he rattled on. "A man gets a bit hipped sometimes all by
himself, you know. So glad I fell in with you like this."
Beryl answered sweetly that so were we, and that they were always glad
to see him, and so forth. While I--well, at that moment I could
cheerfully have murdered Trask with my own hand.