“And do you mean that the assertion of one’s own individuality is a duty?” she asked.
“Ah, that is a difficult question. Certainly, I think there are—are indications that one is supposed to play one’s hand for all it’s worth. But duty? Probably you and I mean different things by it.”
“I mean the will of God for me,” she said, simply.
They paused at the gate into the church-yard, and their eyes met. It seemed to Frank that she waited for his answer with some eagerness. And he shook his head.
“No, I don’t mean that,” he said.
She held out her hand to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“So am I, very sorry, indeed. But I can’t help it.”
Her eyes wandered over the woods behind him. Then came back to his face.
“No, I recognise that,” she said. “Good-bye, Lord Yorkshire. Thank you so much for coming with me. And please have your finger attended to.”