Amaryllis was settled in an empty compartment of the Weymouth express at Paddington. She had said good-bye to John the evening before, and he had returned to camp. She was going back to Ardayre, and feeling very miserable. Everything had been a disillusion. John's reserve seemed to have augmented, and she had been unable to break it down, and all the new emotions which she was trembling with and longing to express, had grown chilled.
Presumably John must be pleased at the possibility of having a son since it was his heart's desire; but it almost seemed as though the subject embarrassed him! And all the beautiful things which she had meant to say to him about it remained unspoken.
He was stolidly matter-of-fact.
What could it all mean?
At last she had become deeply hurt and had cried with a tremour in her voice the morning before he left her:
"Oh! John, how different you have become; it can't be the same you who once called me 'Sweetheart' and held me so closely in your arms! Have I done anything to displease you, dearest? Aren't you glad that I am going to have a baby?"
He had kissed her and assured her gravely that he was glad—overjoyed. And his eyes had been full of pain, and he had added that he was stupid and dull, but that she must not mind—it was only his way.
"Alas!" she had answered and nothing more.
She dwelt upon these things as she sat in the train gazing out of the window on the blank side.
Yes. Joy was turning into dead sea fruit. How moving her thoughts had been when coming up to meet him!