For a moment she stood staring at him, with no comprehension in her eyes.
"South Africa," she repeated; "you—are going to—South Africa," and then suddenly she rushed forward and flung herself on her knees before him. "Hector, Hector," she said wildly, "it's not true, tell me it isn't. You can't leave me, you can't, do you hear?" She tried to drag his hands from his face, but in vain. Then her mood changed, and she rose and stood before him, her eyes blazing in her white face.
"So—so you've volunteered like the rest, you whom I called only this morning 'the best husband in the world.' You'll go off and leave me as I am, helpless and alone, oh, what are men made of to do these things?"
"Lucy, I did not volunteer. I was weak, criminally weak, if you like, but that I did not do; the thing was forced upon me. Will you listen?"
"Go on."
Hector told her, and, as is usual with such recitals, suppressed the evidences of his own weakness, insisting on the fact that, as Quentin had put the matter, he had no choice but to accept, that it had been less an offer than an order. He didn't want to go, he repeated again and again, he never had had any wish to go, and let Lucy but say the word, he would wire to Bradford this minute to refuse. He would say he was ill, he would be ill, there was stuff in his medicine-chest upstairs. And then he stopped bewildered, for Lucy was smiling at him, a smile oddly in contrast with her white face and despairing eyes.
"No, Hector," she said, "you mustn't do that; you must go, dear."
"I won't, Lucy, what do I care for what they say?"
"But I do, dear; and—and, Hector, I was wrong in what I said just now, but I thought it was your own doing, and that you had volunteered. It was that which hurt me, dear, and made me say what I did; and—and I know you despise Mrs. Swaine and those other people, but they taught me a lesson this afternoon. She felt her nephew's going—I know that, because I found her crying afterwards in her room—but she never showed it to him. She was all smiles before him and the others, as I shall be when—when the time comes, Hector. When is it, dear?"
"To-morrow morning, but——"