“That depends.”
I entered my father’s study. He looked up from his writing. “I’m going away.”
He held my hand in silence a moment; his throat was working; he would not look me in the eyes. “Won’t you stay?” he asked hoarsely.
I shook my head.
“Good-by,” he muttered. “Don’t judge us harshly. Come back again.”
Ruthita accompanied me to the end of the lane. She did not come further; she was grown up now and ashamed to be seen crying. At the last minute I wanted to tell her. I realized that she would understand—she was a woman. The knowledge came too late. She said she would write me at Oxford, and I did not correct her. I looked back as I went down the road and waved. I turned a corner; she was lost to sight.
Next day I sailed.