The woman looked as if she could show cause had she a mind. But she said nothing.
'You know,' Vida pursued—'you know quite well you don't need to marry for a home.'
'No, 'm; I'm quite comfortable, of course, with you. But time goes on. I don't get younger.'
'None of us do that, Wark.'
'That's just the trouble, miss. It ain't only me.'
Vida looked at her, more perplexed than ever by the curious regard in the hard-featured countenance. For there was something very like dumb reproach in Wark's face.
'Still,' said Miss Levering, 'you know, even if none of us do get younger, we are not any of us (to judge by appearances) on the brink of the grave. Even if I should be smashed up in a motor accident—I know you're always expecting that—even if I were killed to-morrow, still you'd find I hadn't forgotten you, Wark.'
'It isn't that, miss. It isn't death I'm afraid of.'
There was a pause—the longest that yet had come.