"What do you mean? You are not going away without my permission, sir?"
"Then I must seek it," he answered, smiling. "You have given life such an exquisite sweetness for me, that I am making plans already to preserve it. My one hope lies in Italy."
"How long should you be away?" she asked anxiously.
"Not a week," he answered. "If I am permitted to leave England, which I fear is doubtful, to-morrow, I can be back perhaps in five days."
"Then you may go, Bernard," she whispered. "Take this with you, and think of me sometimes."
She had drawn out a photograph of herself from a folding case on the mantelpiece, and he took it from her eagerly.
"Nothing in the world could be so precious to me," he said.
"For a novice you say some very nice things," she answered, laughing softly. "And now you must go, sir. No, you needn't come into the drawing-room; I really couldn't show myself with you. I'll make your excuses to my aunt. Farewell—love!"
"Farewell—sweetheart!" he answered, hesitating for a moment over the words which seemed so strange to him. Then, as though loth to leave him, she walked down the hall by his side, and they looked out for a moment into the square. A footman was standing prepared to open the door, but Helen sent him away with a message to her maid.
"Do you know why I did that?" she asked, her clasp tightening upon his arm.