VII
Emily was not surprised at receiving a visit from Cecil the next day, and not at all displeased. She wanted to see him—once more.
He was waiting for her, and came toward her as she came out of the lift. It was a relief that he did not smile. He was as grave as she was.
“Emily!” he said. “I’m sorry!”
“I am, too, Cecil.”
“I can’t expect you to understand,” he went on. “I shouldn’t like you so well if you could understand that sort of thing. No use trying to explain; but I had to come and thank you for being so decent to me. Besides, I wanted to tell you that I would set the thing right—tell them I was the man, you know—before I go away.”
“When are you going?” she asked coldly.
“There’s a ship sailing on Saturday. I’ll try to get a passage on her. Anyhow, I’ll go as soon as I can, Emily, so that I can clear up this thing.”
“You mean that you have to run away because you came to see me?” she cried, with a sort of sorrowful scorn.
“Yes,” he answered. “You see, Emily, I haven’t a penny of my own—nothing but an allowance from mother. She’s a bit—difficult, at times. If she hears that I’ve come to see you, she’ll call it disloyal, d’you see? Fact! She’ll make it too hot for me, so I’d better run home and—”