"I accepted the appointment at once. There were reasons why I welcomed it. It would take me abroad!"
"Abroad!" she cried.
"Yes, I welcomed that. To be near you and not to see you—to be near you and know that others were talking with you, any one, every one except me—to be near you and know that you were unhappy and in trouble, and that I could not even tell you how deeply I was sorry—I dreaded that, Sylvia. And yet I dreaded one thing more. Here, in England, at each turn of the street, I should think to come upon you suddenly. To pass you as a stranger, or almost as a stranger. No! I could not do it!"
"Oh, Hilary!" she whispered, and lifting his hand she laid it against her cheek.
"So for a week I was glad. But this morning I received your second letter, Sylvia. It came too late, my dear. There was no time to obtain a substitute."
Sylvia turned to him with a startled face.
"When do you go?"
"Very soon."
"When?"
The words had to be spoken.