For a few minutes not a word passed between Thomas and Lucy. A sudden cloud had fallen upon them. They must not go on this way, but what other way were they to take? They stood side by side, looking into the water, Thomas humiliated and Lucy disgraced. There was no comfort to be got out of that rushing blackness, and the mud banks grew wider and wider.
Lucy was the first to speak, for she was far more capable than Tom.
"We must go ashore at the next pier," she said.
"Very well," said Tom, as if he had been stunned into sullenness. "If you want to get rid of me because of what that fellow said—"
"Oh, Tom!" said Lucy, and burst out crying.
"Well, what do you want, Lucy?"
"We must part, Tom," sobbed Lucy.
"Nonsense!" said Tom, nearly crying himself, for a great, painful lump had risen in his throat.
"We can love each other all the same," said Lucy, still sobbing; "only you must not come to see me any more—that is—I do not mean—never any more at all—but till you have told them—all about it. I don't mean now, but some time, you know. When will you be of age, Tom?"
"Oh, that makes no difference. As long's I'm dependent, it's all the same. I wish I was my own master. I should soon let them see I didn't care what they said."