The tone left no alternative. Anne thrilled.
"But I can't leave them like this—without notice."
"You're going to do just that. I'll phone Wilmot. It'll be all right."
Anne looked at him with a shy smile. Roger pressed her arm.
"You're mine now, Princess," he whispered. "And to-morrow we'll go away into the mountains."
Anne nodded, and then there was nothing small and unimportant to say. They stood in a self-conscious silence that had the separating quality of space, until Anne broke it:
"I—think—I'll go home now."
"Just as you like, sweetheart." The relief in Roger's tone disappointed, although Anne did not know what she had expected. An unending stream of cars all going in the wrong direction passed. They were both glad of the clanging noise and the wind which made speech difficult and filled the silence between them.
At last the right car came and they hurried out into the roadway. As Roger helped her in, he whispered:
"Till to-morrow—little wife."