"I sowed a big bed of mignonette down by the arbour, and Mitchell and I set out a good lot of plants."
Mrs. Talcott made her replies to the questions that Karen continued to ask, in an even voice in which Gregory, who kept his dismal eyes upon her, detected a melancholy patience. Mrs. Talcott must perceive his state to be already one of "hanging on." Of her sympathy he was, at all events, assured. She showed it by rising as soon as he and Karen had drunk their tea. "I've got some more things to do," she said. "Good-bye, Mr. Jardine. Are you coming over to-morrow?"
"No," said Gregory taking Mrs. Talcott's hand. "My holiday is over. I shall be going back to town to-morrow."
Mrs. Talcott looked into his eyes. "Well, that's too bad," she observed.
"Isn't it? I'd far rather stay here, I can assure you," said Gregory.
"We'll miss you, I guess," said Mrs. Talcott. "I'm very glad to have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."
"And I of making yours."
Mrs. Talcott departed and Gregory turned to Karen. She was standing near the window, looking at him.
"We must say good-bye, too, I suppose," said Gregory, mastering his grief. "You will give me your guardian's address so that I can write to her at once?"
Her face had worn the aspect of a grey, passive sheet of water; a radiant pallor now seemed struck from its dulled surface.