"I got your letter," he said at last, "and I've come."
"Yes," said Katharine, "you've come."
Having delivered themselves of these two very obvious remarks, they again relapsed into silence; and Katharine glanced at the cuckoo clock, and marvelled that so much concentrated wretchedness could be crowded into something under five minutes.
"Ted," she forced herself to say, in a voice that did not seem to be hers, "Ted, will you never come and see me any more?"
He lifted his head and looked at her; then looked away again.
"Not unless you want me to do anything for you," he said. "I don't want to bother, you see."
She longed to cry out and tell him that he never bothered her; that she wanted to see him more than she wanted anything in the whole world. But something new and strange in his face, that told her he was no longer a boy and no longer her willing slave, seemed to paralyse her. To be proved inferior to the man she had always considered inferior to her, was the hardest blow she had yet had to endure.
"I don't know what you mean," she said, lamely.
Ted hastened to be apologetic.
"I'm beastly sorry," he said, and cleared his throat again.