"I don't mind much--not
really."
He began to walk on, Rufus tagging valiantly at his heels.
"And--and if anyone asks--you'll say I was at your place--doing
prep.--won't you?"
"Oh, rather----"
"It's awfully decent of you. You don't mind telling fibs, do you, Robert?"
"One has to," Robert answered austerely. "Everyone has to."
Now that it was all over and he turned his back on her for ever, the
splendid glow of renunciation began to fade. Life stretched before him, a
black limitless emptiness. He wished agonizedly that Arabesque had gone
mad and bolted and that he had stopped him and saved his rider's life,
dying gloriously and at once, instead of miserably and by inches, like
this. He felt that in a moment the pain in his throat would get the
better of him and he would begin to cry.
They stopped at the far end of the Green where it was dark and they could
hardly see each other. He heard Cosgrave breathing heavily through his
nose, almost snorting, and then a timid, shamefaced whisper:
"You are decent to me. I say--I do love you so, Robert."
It was an awful thing to have said. They both knew it. If anyone had
overheard them the shame would have haunted them to their death. And yet
it was wonderful too. Never to be forgotten.
"You oughtn't to say rotten, stupid things like that--like silly girls."
And then, as though it had been torn from him. "I love you too, Rufus."
After that he ran madly so that Rufus could not overtake him--above all so
that he could not hear the band which had begun to play the opening march.
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