She backed away from him towards the door.
“I understand well enough,” she said quietly, “and I shall never see you again if I can help it. All that you say does not appeal to me in the least. I am not a politician—thank God—and I am still old-fashioned enough to possess an ideal. I am going now. Good-bye.”
But when he saw she was already in the little hall, a wave of fierce desire seemed to catch him by the throat.
“Not yet,” he exclaimed hoarsely: “Not yet… I care and you care—you cannot go yet—”
But before he reached her, she had slipped through the front door, and shut it behind her, and run down the stairs out into the street.
CHAPTER XXXVII
All through the next day, while motoring with her cousin Dick Bruce, Hal made a valiant effort to appear exactly as usual; but all the fresh spring countryside now seemed to mock her with its sudden emptiness, and the very engine of the motor throbbed out to her that something had gone from her life which would not come back any more.
She chatted away to Dick manfully, about all manner of things, but in the pauses of their chatter she was silent and still in a manner quite unlike her old self—reattending with a start, and sometimes so distrait she did not hear when he spoke to her.
After a time Dick began to notice, and then purposely to watch, and finally he perceived all her gaiety was forced, and sometimes was weighing heavily on her mind.
It was useless to say anything while they motored, so he gave all his attention to his driving, and purposely allowed the conversation to drop.