"I—don't—know," Anne whispered, her strength almost gone.
Roger turned away. Again he felt himself tilting against the soft, unbendable obstinacy of one of Anne's principles.
"Well," he said at length, "will you agree to this? Will you move back to the cottage and let me pay the rent? Will you?" he repeated more gently when Anne did not answer.
To be back in the cottage in her three white-painted rooms with all the Bay and the hills and the sweet garden. Anne felt herself sinking down into a peace so thick and deep that she could scarcely bear to break it even by an answer. She nodded.
"When will you come? To-night?"
"To-night!"
"Why not? It's early. Have you much to pack?"
"No—only my clothes and Rogie's."
"You could do it, couldn't you?"
"Yes—I—could—do it. There's Mrs. Jeffries though——"