“Because he’s coming?”
“Because he’s not yet here.”
“It’s about him, then?”
He looked at her kindly, half-humourously, an almost fraternal wisdom in his smile.
“About——? No, no: I meant that I wanted to speak today because it’s our last day alone together.”
“Oh, I see.” He had slipped his hands into the pockets of his tweed shooting jacket and lounged along at her side, his eyes bent on the moist ruts of the drive, as though the matter had lost all interest for him.
“Owen——”
He stopped again and faced her. “Look here, my dear, it’s no sort of use.”
“What’s no use?”
“Anything on earth you can any of you say.”