"I hope that you will not think I presume if I ask what is going to become of you in the immediate future," said Rosmead presently. "Will you go back to London with your uncle, as he seems to expect?"
"No, I shall simply go back to Creagh," she answered steadily.
Rosmead was silent for a moment, trying to picture the life she would lead there, alone and without occupation, in the company of her brother from whom her heart was estranged.
"To Creagh? It seems impossible! I can't bear to think of you there. It is unthinkable!"
"Oh, no--nothing is unthinkable, or even impossible. People can do anything in this world--anything," she answered. "I have proved it."
"Then, shall I find you at Creagh when I come back?" he asked with an odd persistence, his eyes cleaving to her face.
A tremor ran over it, and had he but known it the opportunity was his. Her heart turned--nay, cried out to him. Had he spoken the word then she would have gone away with him without a question or a doubt.
But he blundered on, longing for her mightily, yet wholly afraid, believing that he dared not begin to woo her until he had given her heart time to recover from its present shock.
Some one tapped lightly at the door.
"It is au revoir, then, not good-bye," he said with an effort, and held out his hand.