The little squirrel chattered brazenly on above them. A locust was shrilling somewhere across the dazzling sand. She told herself she had given him every chance.
"You mustn't let me keep you, Les."
"Oh, that's all right."
She had given him every chance. He did not care, after all. She had been deceived in him. Oh, the injustice of it all!
"I must go find Mr. Barry," she said. "He'll wonder what's become of me!" And she forced a brief little laugh. "It will be lots of fun. I'd forgotten all about the mid-summer roast! I'll—we'll see you there...."
"Yes," he answered.
Their eyes suddenly met. She flushed, and her throat ached. He turned slowly away.
"Good-bye, Les."
"Good-bye," he answered.
Louise reëntered the cottage by the back door. Eliza was singing over her work at the sink. And Leslie, smiling in a kind of baffling way, strolled off, still whittling the broken spar.