Luke recovered his composure. “Isn’t that rather a cliché too?” he inquired politely. Bridget flushed. “It’s true, anyway!” “It isn’t. I had every right.” “Nonsense!” Luke looked at her. His face had a queer pallor, like a man who is suffering physical pain. He said: “I have a right. I’ve the right of caring for you—what did you say just now?—of caring so much that it hurts!” She drew back a step. She said: “You—” “Yes, funny, isn’t it? The sort of thing that ought to give you a hearty laugh! I came down here to do a job of work and you came round the corner of that house and—how can I say
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