"Then Colonel Ray will keep his word," I assured her. "Besides, you have written to him, have you not?"
"I have written," she answered. "Still, I am afraid. He will do what he thinks right, whatever it may be."
"He will respect your wishes," I said.
She smiled a little bitterly.
"He is not an easy person to influence," she murmured. "I doubt whether my wishes, even my prayers, would weigh with him a particle against his own judgment. And he is severe—very severe."
I said nothing, and we walked for some time in silence.
"Next week," she said abruptly, "I must go back to London."
It was too sudden! I could not keep back the little exclamation of despair. She walked for some time with her head turned away from me, as though something on the dark clear horizon across the waters had fascinated her, but I caught a glimpse of her face, and I knew that my secret had escaped me. Whether I was glad or sorry I could not tell. My thoughts were all in hopeless confusions. When she spoke, there was a certain reserve in her tone. I knew that things would never again be exactly the same between us. Yet she was not angry! I hugged that thought to myself. She was startled and serious, but she was not angry.
"One season is very much like another," she said, "but it is not possible to absent oneself altogether. Then afterwards there is Cowes and Homburg, and I always have a plan for at least three weeks in Scotland. I believe we shall close Rowchester altogether."
"The Duke?" I asked.