"Yes?"
"Mrs. Monkton will—at least I am sure she will—let me have a line now and then to let me know how you—how you are all getting on. I was going to ask her about it this evening. You think she will be good enough?"
"Barbara is always kind."
"I suppose"—he hesitates, and then goes on with an effort—"I suppose it would be too much to ask of you——"
"What?"
"That you would sometimes write me a letter—however short."
"I am a bad correspondent," says she, feeling as if she were choking.
"Ah! I see. I should not have asked, of course. Yes, you are right. It was absurd my hoping for it."
"When people choose to go away so far as that——" she is compelling herself to speak, but her voice sounds to herself a long way off.
"They must hope to be forgotten. 'Out of sight out of mind,' I know. It is such an old proverb. Well——You are cold," says he suddenly, noting the pallor of the girl's face. "Whatever you were before, you are certainly chilled to the bone now. You look it. Come, this is no time of year to be lingering out of doors without a coat or hat."