Page:Malvina of Brittany - Jerome (1916).djvu/283

between us. She—she told me things." When you came to think it out it was almost the truth.

"What is she like?" demanded Matthew.

"Oh, just—well, not exactly———" It was an awkward question. There came to her relief the reflection that there was really no need for her to answer it.

"What's it got to do with you?" she said.

"I am Aston Rowant," said Matthew.

The Central Park, together with the universe in general, fell away and disappeared. Somewhere out of chaos was sounding a plaintive voice: "What is she like? Can't you tell me? Is she young or old?"

It seemed to have been going on for ages. She made one supreme gigantic effort, causing the Central Park to reappear, dimly, faintly, but it was there again. She was sitting on a seat. Matthew—Aston Rowant, whatever it was—was seated beside her.

"You've seen her? What is she like?"

"I can't tell you."

He was evidently very cross with her. It seemed so unkind of him.

Why can't you tell me—or, why won't