He was silent, and she went on insistently: “Don’t you suppose I’ve thought of that too—foreseen it?”
“Well—and then?” he exclaimed.
“I’ve accepted that too.”
He dropped her hands with a despairing gesture. “Then, indeed, I waste my breath!”
She made no answer, and for a time they sat silent again, a little between them. At length he asked: “You’re not crying?”
“No.”
“I can’t see your face, it’s grown so dark.”
“Yes. The storm must be coming.” She made a motion as if to rise.
He drew close and put his arm about her. “Don’t leave me yet. You know I must go to-morrow.” He broke off with a laugh. “I’m to break the news to you to-morrow morning, by the way; I’m to take you out in the motorlaunch and break it to you.” He dropped her hands and stood up. “Good God! How can I go and leave you here with him?”
“You’ve done it often.”