“You are going, then?” she said, at length.
“Yes,” said Arthur, “I have made up my mind to go. I should like to tell you all my reasons, because, Flossy, you have always listened to my troubles, and I know how you grieved with me as well as for me.”
“Oh, yes—yes!” faltered Flossy, thankful for the tears that seemed to bring her senses back, and for this excuse for them.
“The idea made Hugh wretched,” said Arthur, “but yet he knew there was a great deal of sense in it. He knows that here everything brings back what’s lost. I cannot bear it. I cannot forget what I hoped my life would be. The best would be a sort of make-shift. But my life is before me, and I must not look on it as only fit to throw away. I must make something of it yet, if I can. And as for the parting with them all, that’s the lot of hundreds. I have fewer ties than most.”
“It is such an ending, Arthur!” said Flossy, sadly.
“No. I hope it will be a beginning—with God’s help. You told me once that she would have made a life for herself without me. I don’t think she would wish mine to have no future.”
“And has Hugh consented?”
“Yes. You know he said at first that I made a mistake in coming home; but that is not so. Last winter I could not have decided on such a step as this. And now he has made me promise that I will give it up if I am ill, or if I dislike it very much. But the first is not likely to happen, and the second—shall not.”
“But what does Mrs Crichton say?” asked Flossy.
“Oh, they are all very sorry, Flossy, and so am I,” said Arthur, with an odd sort of smile, “but—they’ll get on very well without me, and I must make my way for myself as others do. I cannot be the worse,” he added, in a lower tone, “for—for her memory.”