Cyril laughed bitterly.
“You’re going,” he said sharply. “It can’t disappoint you.”
“Yes, it can. I am disappointed. I don’t care about going so much now without you.”
“Then stop here with me,” cried Cyril sharply.
“I can’t,” was the reply. “You wouldn’t give up going if you were me. Don’t let’s think any more about it now, but go and do something.”
Cyril made no reply, but walked straight away out of the garden and then down towards the harbour, while Perry watched him for a few minutes sadly, and then followed slowly, missed sight of him, and after quite a long search found him sitting on the edge of his wharf, where the sun beat down most fiercely, and staring straight out to sea. “Cil!” said Perry, after going close up, but without exciting the slightest notice of his presence.
There was no reply.
“Cil—don’t be sulky with me.”
“Not sulky,” came with quite a snap.
“Well, angry then. It isn’t my fault. I wish you could come.”