“Yes; I thought of it like that. But he is really—oh, ever so old. As old as I am.”
Mr. Challoner’s face relaxed.
“I had forgotten,” he said; “an immense age. What next, Helen?”
She looked up at him.
“Is that all you have to say?” she asked, feeling suddenly chilly and disappointed.
“You think I am hard, Helen,” he said. “I try to be. But what next?”
Yes, it was chilly on these upland downs. She put her hat on.
“Just this,” she said. “I met Frank half an hour ago. He gave me Martin’s note. I did not expect to see him. As far as I am concerned it was quite accidental. I had no idea he was here. I had promised you not to see him. That I could not help.”
She stopped, drew a long breath, and went on.
“I suppose I could have helped the rest,” she said. “I suppose it was that I did not choose to help it. He stood aside for me to pass. But—but I did not pass. I went to him. I let him kiss me. He stood there with me. I thought I could not help it. Indeed, I thought that.”