SURRENDER
She awaited him still sitting on the bench and striving vainly to quiet her thumping heart. She heard him come lightly up behind her, but she did not turn her head though she had no tears to conceal. She was possessed by an insane desire to spring up and flee. It took all her resolution to remain where she was.
And so Nick drew near unwelcomed—a lithe, alert figure in European attire, bare-headed, eager-faced. He was smiling to himself as he came, but when he reached her the smile was gone.
He bent and looked into her white, downcast face; then laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"But Muriel—" he said.
And that was all. Yet Muriel suddenly hid her face and wept.
He did not attempt to restrain her. Perhaps he realised that tears such as those must have their way. But the touch of his hand was in some fashion soothing. It stilled the tempest within her, comforting her inexplicably.
She reached up at last, and drew it down between her own, holding it fast.
"I'm such a fool, Nick," she whispered shakily. "You—you must try to bear with me."
She felt his fingers close and gradually tighten upon her own until their grip was actual pain.