But ere she finished, the tears were running down her face again. He set down the glass, and with his own handkerchief he wiped them away. Then he sat upon the low tree-trunk, and drew her to lean against him.
"When you're feeling better, we'll have a talk," he said.
She hid her face with a piteous gesture against his knee. "I don't see—the good of talking," she said, in muffled accents. "It can't make things—any better."
"I'm not so sure of that," he said. "Anyhow we can't leave things as they are. You will admit that."
Dinah was silent.
He went on with the utmost gentleness. "I want to get you away from here. Isabel is going down to Heath-on-Sea and she wants you to come too. It's a tiny place. We have a cottage there with the most wonderful garden for flowers you ever saw. It isn't more than thirty yards square, and there is a cliff path down to the beach. Isabel loves the place. The yacht is there too, and we go for cruises on calm days. I am hoping Isabel may pick up a little there, and she is always more herself when you are with her. You won't disappoint her, will you?"
A great-shiver went through Dinah. "I can't come," she said, almost under her breath. "It just—isn't possible."
"What is there to prevent?" he asked.
She moved a little, and lifted her head from its resting-place. "Ever so many things," she said.
"You are thinking of Eustace?" he questioned. "He has gone already—gone to town. He will probably go abroad; but in any case he will not get in your way."