A sort of sadness seemed to fall on them at the words; only gentle Mrs. Osmond said, cheerfully:
“You will come to see us again when you come back, will you not?”
And then, with the privilege of the aged, she drew down the young, fresh face to hers and kissed it.
“You will let me see you home,” said Brian. “It is getting dark.”
Erica laughingly protested that she was well used to taking care of herself, but it ended in Brian's triumphing. So together they crossed the quiet square. Erica chattered away merrily enough, but as they reached the narrow entrance to Guilford Terrace a shadow stole over her face.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “this is the last time I shall come home for two whole years.”
“You go for so long,” said Brian, stifling a sigh. “You won't forget your English friends?”
“Do you mean that you count yourself our friend?” asked Erica, smiling.
“If you will let me.”
“That is a funny word to use,” she replied, laughing. “You see we are treated as outlaws generally. I don't think any one ever said 'will you let' to me before. This is our house; thank you for seeing me home.” Then with a roguish look in her eyes, she added demurely, but with a slight emphasis on the last word, “Good bye, my friend.”