"Where are you going?" she asked in some agitation.
"I am going back to New York," he answered, controlling himself with an effort. She was so beautiful, there in the dim hallway.
"To-night?" she asked in very low tones.
"In half an hour."
"And were you going without saying good-by to—to us?" she went on rapidly.
He looked steadily down into her solemn eyes for a moment and an expression of pain, of longing, came into his own.
"It couldn't make any difference whether I said good-by to you, and it would have been hard," he replied unsteadily.
"Hard? I don't understand you," she said.
"I didn't want to see you. Yes, I hoped to get away before you knew anything about it. Maybe it was cowardly, but it was the best way," he cried bitterly.
"What do you mean?" she cried, and he detected alarm, confusion, guilt in her manner.