Both were silent, and then he started up nervously.
“It isn't done yet. Lolly is clever. He lived here four years and kept out of my sight. But, afterwards, granted he succeeds—but the law is a great octopus. Its arms are everywhere. But he'll have me with him. I suppose we must go out of the country.”
“You! Do you mean—do you—you'll go too!”
“Go! Could I stay?”
“Oh! I don't know! I don't know!”
She shivered and leaned against the friendly old chest.
“But could I do it without that? How could I? I couldn't do less than that.”
He came and sat beside her again, clasping his knees in the same way, looking off into the tree tops, talking slowly and sadly.
“To be with him always, and give up my life to that, and see that he doesn't do any more harm. That would be the debt I would owe to the rest of the world. You see, I know him so well. I shall know how to manage him better than I used to. I used to irritate him. Do you know, I think he's better off in places where things are rough and simple. He has an odd mind or temperament, not what people call balanced or healthy, but it's hot and sensitive; oh, but loving and hating so suddenly, one never knows! You understand. I don't know how you do, but you do understand, somehow, about Lolly and me. You're wholly healthy, too, but Lolly and I, we're morbid of course. Yes, we're morbid. I don't know that there's any cure for us. We'll smash up altogether by and by.”
“When will you go?” she asked only just audibly.