“Kent!” After a minute she forced another word out. “Why?”
Kent regarded her somberly. “You better think twice before you ask me that,” he warned; “because I ain't much good at beating all around the bush. If you ask me again, I'll tell you—and I'm liable to tell you without any frills.” He drew a hard breath. “So I'd advise you not to ask,” he finished, half challengingly.
Val placed a pale lavender blossom against a creamy white one, and held the two up for inspection.
“When are you going?” she asked evenly.
“I don't know exactly—in a day or so. Saturday, maybe.”
She hesitated over the flowers in her lap, and selected a pink one, which she tried with the white and the lavender.
“And—why are you going?” she asked him deliberately.
Kent stared at her fixedly. A faint, pink flush was creeping into her cheeks. He watched it deepen, and knew that his silence was filling her with uneasiness. He wondered how much she guessed of what he was going to say, and how much it would mean to her.
“All right—I'll tell you why, fast enough.” His tone was grim. “I'm going to leave the country because I can't stay any longer—not while you're in it.”
“Why—Kent!” She seemed inexpressibly shocked.