"Wait and tell Bella."
"She wouldn't let me go. There'd be nothing but fighting and misery. When you've made up your mind to do a thing you've got to do it yourself, not go by what other people think."
There was a silence and they hung upon each other. Then Lucy put her face against her friend's and kissed her.
"Good-by," she whispered, loosening her arms.
"I can't let you go. I won't. It'll kill you."
"I must. He's waiting."
She struggled from the embrace, pulling away the clasping hands noiselessly, but with purpose. There was something of coldness, of the semblance but not the soul of affection, in the determined softness with which she sought release. She stole to the tent flap and peered out. Her thoughts were already outside, flown to the shape hiding in the shadow like birds darting from a cage. She did not turn at Susan's strangled whisper.
"We'll never see you again, Bella, nor I, nor the children."
"Perhaps, some day, in California. He's there. I must go."
"Lucy!" She leaped after her. In the tent opening they once more clasped each other.