He had loitered in England long enough. He would never forget this holiday, for he had learned what happiness life might have in store; but it was a happiness that could not be attained by romantic dreams. He must earn it by tense effort, and was willing to pay the price; this was the reason he must get back to work. For all that, he had doubts, and was glad when Muriel came along the terrace and sat down on the bench.
“You look unusually thoughtful,” she said.
“I have something to think about. I find I must go back to Canada very soon.”
Muriel made an abrupt movement. “You are going away! But we thought—” She paused and resumed: “Does Helen know?”
“Not yet; I must tell her. It will cost me something to leave, but I've got to go. Perhaps you had better see what Kerr has to say.”
He gave her the letter, and after waiting until she had read it, went on: “I can't let this chance pass; I want the money.”
“I think I understand,” said Muriel. “Still you haven't told me much.”
He was silent for a few moments and looked very grave, but she had for some time imagined that he was bearing a strain.
“Well,” he said, “I'm up against things and can't see my way. That is, I do see where I mean to go, but don't know if I ought.”
“The problem's not exactly new. However, if you will state it clearly.”