“You are cold, dear,” he said solicitously. “Are your furs warm enough? The wind is treacherous to-day.”
“Oh, I don't know. Yes, of course I am warm enough—I mean it does not matter,” Cecily said incoherently. “I—I wrote to you—you know—because I wanted to see you.”
Tony looked round. No one was in sight. He drew her to a seat beside the path, knowing nothing of the unseen watcher hidden in the rhododendrons.
“I hoped you did. I always want to see you, Cecily,” he said simply.
Cecily shivered away from him. “You—you must not.”
Anthony stared at her.
“Must not—what?” he said blankly. “Want to see you, do you mean?”
Cecily nodded.
“Oh, but it is no use telling me not to do that,” Anthony said quaintly, “I shall want to see you every day as long as I live.”
“You will not be able to,” Cecily said desperately. “Because now—to-day—I am going right out of your life—you will never see me again.”