and then paused again, a little annoyed at the over-emphasis of her words. Why was she explaining and excusing herself to this stranger? Did she propose to tell him next that she had borrowed her dress from Effie Dressel? To cover her confusion she went on with a slight laugh: “But you haven’t told me.”
“What was I to tell you?”
“Whether to be glad or sorry that I broke my vow and told the truth about Dillon.”
They were standing face to face in the solitude of the garden-walk, forgetful of everything but the sudden surprised sense of intimacy that had marked their former brief communion. Justine had raised her eyes half-laughingly to Amherst, but they dropped before the unexpected seriousness of his.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked.
She made an effort to sustain the note of pleasantry.
“Well—it might, for instance, determine my future conduct. You see I’m still a nurse, and such problems are always likely to present themselves.”
“Ah, then don’t!”
“Don’t?”
“I mean—” He hesitated a moment, reaching up to break a rose from the branch that tapped his shoulder. “I was only thinking what risks we run when we scramble into the chariot of the gods and try to do the driving. Be passive—be passive, and you’ll be happier!”
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