“Oh no!” she cried quickly... “No!”
“When you talk like that,” he said, smiling at her pleasantly, “you convince me that my judgment is right... Oh! don’t worry,” he added in response to a quick gesture of protest; “I’m not going to rely on anything so stodgy. I’m going to follow inclination. Remain my dear little friend... If there is no great good to you in it, there shall be no great harm in it either... And, in any case, it won’t matter much... I am going away shortly.”
“Going away!” she echoed blankly. “Leaving Cape Town, do you mean?”
“Yes.”
She turned to him with a swift abandonment that proved how strong was the influence he already exerted over her, and with white face, and distressful, tear-filled eyes, cried out—
“Oh! don’t go! don’t go! ... Or—couldn’t you—take me with you?”
He came to an abrupt standstill, and leaning towards her, with his hand resting on the saddle of the cycle, looked steadily into the shamed, young, piteous face. His look brought the colour flaming back into the white cheeks.
“Ah! now you think me unwomanly,” she said, and her voice shook pitifully... “You won’t like me any more...”
“My dear!” he replied, “you are talking nonsense.”
Her head drooped lower and lower like a flower that is beaten down in a storm. She stared down at the strong, sunburnt hand gripping the saddle, and the slow tears overflowed and fell, big, shining drops, into the dust of the road. She made no effort to stay them or to wipe them away; and the man, watching her with his keen, observant eyes, was stirred with an unwonted sense of compassion, and a swift self-hatred because of what he had in idle selfishness done.