"You mustn't think it means that, dear." On the last word his voice quivered, but he went on again. "It means a very long night; the sun won't rise again for ever so many months. But some day it will." She had turned her head away, and, as he made this confident declaration, a smile bent his lips for a moment, a smile not of amusement.
"Will it?" she asked, leaning towards him again, praying him to repeat his comforting words.
"Of course it will."
"And you won't forget me? Ashley, don't forget me!"
"Not likely, my dear," said he. "I think Miss Pinsent makes herself remembered."
"Because I shan't forget you, not for a moment," she said, fixing her eyes on his. "Oh, it's hard to leave you!"
She took up her handkerchief from the small table and dried her eyes. "Your picture will go with me everywhere," she said, lightly touching it. "But I shan't be able to have your roses, shall I? Would you like some tea, Ashley?"
"Very much indeed," said he.
After all, why not tea? There is nothing in tea necessarily inconsistent with tragedy; still her vague forecasts of this conversation had not included the taking of tea.
"Now show me your agreement," he said. "I must see that they've not done you."