She thought of his words when she was packing: the many pleasant hours were to count for nothing; for nothing the little bits of fun, the little displays of temper and vexation, the snatches of serious talk, the contradictions, and all the petty details of six months' close companionship.
He was not different from the others who had parted from her so lightly.
No wonder, then, that he could sympathise with them.
That last night at Petershof, Bernardine hardened her heart against the
Disagreeable Man.
"I am glad I am able to do so," she said to herself. "It makes it easier for me to go."
Then the vision of a forlorn figure rose before her. And the little hard heart softened at once.
In the morning they breakfasted together as usual. There was scarcely any conversation between them. He asked for her address, and she told him that she was going back to her uncle who kept the second-hand book- shop in Stone Street.
"I will send you a guide-book from the Tyrol," he explained. "I shall be going there in a week or two to see my mother."
"I hope you will find her in good health," she said.
Then it suddenly flashed across her mind what he had told her about his one great sacrifice for his mother's sake. She looked up at him, and he met her glance without flinching.
He said good-bye to her at the foot of the staircase.