Belle stood up as white as a ghost, and gazed at him despairingly.
It was not alone George Holroyd who was going, it was her life, her hopes, her future; she felt more than half inclined to throw herself into his arms, but something in his face arrested her intention, and she merely gave him her hand, and turning away her face, sank in a heap upon the sofa, in a storm of hysterical tears—and George escaped. To look back would have been to emulate Lot’s wife; to linger was destruction.
As he left the house, he gazed anxiously about him, and then he descried a welcome trio—three little white dogs trotting along from the direction of the garden, and presently a tall, girlish figure carrying on her arm a good-sized basket of strawberries. A lovely colour came into her face as she recognised him. He seized her hand eagerly, and said:
“I was afraid I might miss you! I got sudden orders, and I start to-morrow, so I just ran down to say good-bye to you.”
He still retained her hand in his, whilst the dogs sat round, staring at him affectionately, as if giving the young couple their countenance and consent; the little group was commanded by the drawing-room windows, but, luckily for them, Belle’s jealous eyes were buried in the sofa cushions.
“Will you walk down to the gate?” he asked, releasing her hand, and taking the basket. “I left the car there—I have still to go up the town, and my time is very, very short.”
They walked down that miserably short avenue, almost in total silence; how many things they would think of to say, afterwards. How passionately they would regret this sinful waste of five minutes—precious, golden minutes—but the truth was, they were determined to be very brave, and their hearts were too full to speak. When they came near the gate they halted, for at the gate itself stood Juggy with the key in her hand. She locked and unlocked the entrance to Noone as rigorously as if it were a jail, but if people could go in and out without her help, her occupation and her sixpences would be gone, and Mrs. Redmond winked at the arrangement—as she gave Juggy no wages.
“Give me one token, Betty, before I go,” he urged in an eager whisper. “Once you promised me whatever I asked for; give me that little silver brooch you are wearing.”
Betty unpinned it hastily, and put it in his hand; a shabby little “Mizpah” brooch! a present from Belle.
“Good-bye, God bless you, Betty!” he said in a husky, unsteady voice.