George burst out:
"I tell you what it is. Marguerite. You're too good-natured. That's what it is. You're too good-natured. And it's a very bad thing."
Tears came into her eyes; she could not control them. She was grieved by his remark.
"I'm not, George, truly. You must remember father's been through a lot this last week. So have I."
"
"I know! I know! I admit all that. But you're too good-natured, and I'll stick to it."
She was smiling again.
"You only think that because you're fond of me. Nobody else would say it, and I'm not. Help me to lift this trunk on to the chest."
While the daylight withdrew, and the smell of the lamp strengthened and then faded, and the shadows cast by the lamp-rays grew blacker, she went on rapidly with her packing, he serving her at intervals. They said little. His lower lip fell lower and lower. The evening was immensely, horribly different from what he had expected and hoped for. He felt once more the inescapable grip of destiny fastening upon him.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" he asked, after a long time.