“Miss Dalrymple,” he began, “is there absolutely no hope for Hugh?”
She paused for a moment.
“What right have you to ask?”
“None, except,”—he would have liked to have shot out, “that I want relief from a torment of doubt,” but controlled himself to say—“except knowing that he has not given you up.”
“You should not use the present tense. I can answer for it that you have not seen him for ten days. Doesn’t that give time enough for a man to change?”
Wareham looked at her, his face hard.
“Yes,” he said shortly. “That is not the question. How long does a woman take?” She made an impatient gesture.
“For pity’s sake! When I came to Norway to escape Hugh Forbes!”
He was silent, suddenly conscious that he dared not probe farther. Womanlike she glanced at him, to read what she could in his face, but his eyes were on the ground. When he raised them, he stared before him at an empty fjord. He dragged out his watch.
“Impossible! It is not half-past one.”