THE GOLDFISH POND
"Expect so. Usually do, you know—shoot things, I mean."
"You shot that head in the hall, didn't you?"
Blunt nodded. Then he jerked out, going rather red, as he did so:—
"Care for some decent skins any time? If so, I could get 'em for you."
"Oh! please do," cried Flora. "Will you really? You won't forget?"
"I shan't forget," said Hector Blunt.
He added, in a sudden burst of communicativeness:—
"Time I went. I'm no good in this sort of life. Haven't got the manners for it. I'm a rough fellow, no use in society. Never remember the things one's expected to say. Yes, time I went."
"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.
[109]
