“I have to go,” he repeated, in a dogged manner. “Is there tea here? If you won’t give me any I must go without it.”
“But you are so ill, dear! Bernard, do, do wait till you are better! I cannot let you go out like this!”
He looked at her, and spoke with perfect calmness.
“I am not ill. My head is much better. I am going into the country, and it will do me good.”
“Are you going to Knightswell?” she asked, laying a hand gently upon him.
“Yes, I am. She goes into Scotland tomorrow; I must see her before. I am dreadfully thirsty. Give me some tea, Mary, there’s a good girl.”
When she brought it from the kitchen, he had his hat in his hand. She in vain tried to persuade him to eat. He said he should have an appetite when he reached Winstoke. In a few minutes he was ready to start.
“I may be late back; don’t trouble yourself about me.”
“But I shall trouble dreadfully about you, Bernard; how can I help?”
But she was as helpless to prevent his going. He merely waved his hand, and hastened into the street.