He rose and walked away from her, stood thinking for a little, then came back. Still standing, he looked down at her bent head.
"Tell me this at least," he said, "if we had met ... at first ... before things happened in both our lives ... do you think that you might have ... cared for me?"
Sophy did not answer at once. Her past was rushing before her. Then she sprang impulsively to her feet.
"Yes, Amaldi, yes...." she said. "When we were both young ... if we had met then.... Oh, how beautiful life could have been for us!"
Amaldi started forward, then drew back. His eyes confused her. She stood there, rather overwhelmed by her own outburst, looking down again now at the tip of one shoe which she moved nervously from side to side among the last year's leaves. He said in a low voice:
"That makes it easier to say 'good-by' ... and harder. I...."
He stopped short. She forced herself to ask for how long he meant to be gone.
"I think a year ... two years, perhaps, would be best," he answered heavily. The next instant he put it more lightly: "I've always wanted to travel for some years in strange lands. I might come back a more satisfactory 'friend' ... who knows?"
"Don't...." said Sophy, blind with tears now.
She could never remember clearly how they parted. He promised to write her of his plans as soon as he had decided on them. Walking back through the garden, they met Sue Pickett and Bobby. They were not alone again until he left for London.