She rose now with a little shaking motion, one hand at her belt, and rested a shoulder against a pillar of the veranda. He rose also at once, and said, touching her hand respectfully with his finger tips: “We may be sorry one day that we did not believe in ourselves more.”
“Oh, no,” she said, turning and smiling at him, “I think not. You will be in England hard at work, I here hard at living; our interests will lie far apart. I am certain about it all. We might have been what my cousin calls ‘trusty pals’—no more.”
“I wish to God I felt sure of that.”
She held out her hand to him. “I believe you are honest in this. I expect both of us have played hide-and-seek with sentiment in our time; but it would be useless for us to masquerade with each other: we are of the world, very worldly.”
“Quite useless—here comes your cousin! I hope I don’t look as agitated as I feel.”
“You look perfectly cool, and I know I do. What an art this living is! My cousin comes about the boarhunt to-morrow.”
“Shall you join us?”
“Of course. I can handle a rifle. Besides, it is your last day here.”
“Who can tell what to-morrow may bring forth?” he said.
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