This was the time—it was six o'clock—at which he could rejoin Louise with a free mind. It was the exception for him to go earlier, or at other hours; but, did he chance to go, no matter when, she met him in the same way—sprang towards him from the window, where she had been sitting or standing, with her eyes on the street.
"I believe you watch for me all day long," he said to her once.
On this particular afternoon, when he had used much the same words to her, she put back her head and looked up at him, with a pale, unsmiling face.
"Not quite," she answered slowly. "But I have a fancy, Maurice—a foolish, fancy—that once you will come early—in the morning—and we shall have the whole day together again. Perhaps even go away somewhere ... before summer is quite over."
"And I promise you, dearest, we will. Just let me get through the next fortnight, and then I shall be freer. We'll take the train, and go back to Rochlitz, or anywhere you like. In the meantime, take more care of yourself. You are far too pale. You will go out tomorrow, yes?—to please me?"
But this was a request he had often made, and generally in vain.
Since the afternoon of their return, Louise had made no further attempt to stem or alter circumstance. She accepted Maurice's absences without demur. But one result was, that her feelings were hoarded up for the few hours he passed with her: these were then a working-off of emotion; and it seemed impossible to cram enough into them, to make good the starved remainder of the day.
Maurice was vaguely troubled. He was himself so busy at this time, and so full of revived energy, that he could not imagine her happy, living as she did, entirely without occupation. At first he had tried to persuade her to take up her music again; but she would not even consider it. To all his arguments, she made the same reply.
"I have no real talent. With me, it was only an excuse—to get away from home."
Nor could he induce her to renew her acquaintance with people she had known.