“Not here,” she said.
“No—not here,” he answered.
“There’s too much sun—really,” said she, as the colour rose faintly in her cheeks.
“It’s only to say good-bye,” Brook answered sadly. “I shall always remember you just as you are now—with the sun shining on your hair.”
It was so bright that it dazzled him as he looked. In spite of the heat she did not move, and their eyes met.
“Mr. Johnstone,” Clare began, “please stay. Please don’t let me feel that I have sent you away.” There was a shade of timidity in the tone, and the eyes seemed brave enough to say something more. Brook hesitated.
“Well—no—it isn’t that exactly. I’ve heard something—my father has told me something since I saw you—”
He stopped short and looked down.
“What have you heard?” she asked. “Something dreadful about us?”