I asked her then, Was _she_ afraid?

She was standing beside me now, leaning back against my writing-table.
Her two hands clutched the edge of it. Her eyes had a far-seeing, candid
gaze.

"I'm not afraid," she said, "of anything outside me. Only of things
inside me--sometimes."

"What sort of things?"

She smiled, the queerest little, far-off smile.

"Oh, funny things--things you wouldn't understand, Furny."

To that I said, "I wish you'd marry me, Viola."

She shrugged her shoulders and said, so did she, and it was much worse
for her than it was for me. And then: "Do you know, Reggie liked you
immensely. He told me so."

I said it would be more to the point if _she_ did. But since she didn't,
since she couldn't marry me, I wished--"I wish," I said, "you'd go back
to Canterbury and marry some nice man like Reggie."

"Can't you see," she cried, "that I shall never marry a nice man like
Reggie?"