Oliver gave a chuckle and checked the cob. “Somehow I thought—” he said. “Have I got to pull up?”
She did not answer him, for Arthur with an imperious wave of the hand did that for her. He walked his horse forward as Oliver reined into a standstill.
“You can ride my animal back,” he said. “I will take Miss Thorold to the station.”
“You haven’t too much time,” said Oliver.
“Then get down and be quick about it!” said Arthur briefly.
To Frances he said nothing, and she attempted no word of greeting, even when he mounted to the seat beside her.
A hasty farewell to Oliver, the starting forward of the cob, a cheery bark from Roger scudding in front, and they were rounding the bend of the road and alone. Before them, the drifting clouds parted suddenly like a rent curtain, and a great shaft of light descended. They drove straight into the brightness; but as they reached it the clouds drew together again, and they were once more in gloom. The moor stretched all about them like a wilderness.
Arthur spoke at last. “Why are you going?”
His voice was quiet; it held no special thrill of interest. She even wondered as she made reply if he were greatly interested.
“It is better for me to go,” she said. “I am going to take up work in earnest. I have had some encouragement. Several of my sketches have been bought.”