But she did not move. Sideways she looked up into his face. Then she held out her hand.
“Good-bye, Brook,” she said, quietly enough, as he took it.
“Good-bye,” he murmured in a low voice, but distinctly.
Their hands stayed together after they had spoken, and still she looked up to him in the moonlight. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the forehead—in an odd, hasty way.
“I’m sorry, Fan, but it won’t do,” he said.
“Again!” she answered. “Once more, please!” And she held up her face.
He kissed her again, but less hastily, Clare thought, as she watched them. Then, without another word, they walked towards the hotel, side by side, close together, so that their hands almost touched. When they were not ten paces from the door, they stopped again and looked at each other.
At that moment Clare saw her mother’s dark figure on the threshold. The pair must have heard her steps, for they separated a little and instantly went on, passing Mrs. Bowring quickly. Clare sat still in her place, waiting for her mother to come to her. She feared lest, if she moved, the two might come back for an instant, see her, and understand that they had been watched. Mrs. Bowring went forward a few steps.
“Clare!” she called.
“Yes,” answered the young girl softly. “Here I am.”