"You mean—" she went redder than ever—"that I care enough for you—that I would make an effort for your sake?"
"I suppose I do," said Tarling slowly, "it's vanity, I suppose?"
"Perhaps it is instinct," she said, and squeezed his arm.
"I must take you back to your mother's place," he said.
The walk from the house to the station had been a long and tedious one. The way back was surprisingly short, even though they walked at snail's pace. There never was a courting such as Tarling's, and it seemed unreal as a dream. The girl had a key of the outer gate and they passed through together.
"Does your mother know that you are in Hertford?" asked Tarling suddenly.
"Yes," replied the girl. "I saw her before I came after you."
"Does she know——"
He did not care to finish the sentence.
"No," said the girl, "she does not know. Poor woman, it will break her heart. She is—very fond of Milburgh. Sometimes he is most kind to mother. She loves him so much that she accepted his mysterious comings and goings and all the explanations which he offered, without suspicion."