"Yes, for you," she said in a lighter tone, smiling. "But that's all you're going to be told at present."
She went to the window and looked out at the falling rain.
"I thought," she said, "that we might have one last little ride together, for the sake of—of the old days!"
"But it couldn't—surely it couldn't be for long?" he asked, still thinking of her departure, scarcely believing the news.
"I don't think I shall ever again come back to New York," she said slowly, with something that was almost a sob.
"But can't you tell me why?"
"No, I can't—not now!"
"My poor child," he said suddenly, taking her pale face between his hands and looking earnestly into her eyes—and what gloriously luminous eyes they were that poignantly happy moment! "My poor child, is it any trouble I could take on my own shoulders? Is it anything I could ever help you with?"
It was his first voluntary caress, his first spontaneous and unlooked-for touch of tenderness. Her heart was beating riotously.
She shook her head.