"Mother can just think of me for once. It will be a bit of a change for her. It will do her good. I've told her whom I want to marry, and she must just get used to it. She admits herself that she can't have anything against you personally, except that you're too young. I asked her whether she wanted me to marry a Dowager of sixty."
Joan moved away. She walked to the window and looked out at the grey mist sweeping like an army of ghostly messengers across the Cathedral Green. She turned round to him.
"No, Johnny, this time it isn't a joke. I mean absolutely what I say. We're not to meet alone or to write until--father doesn't need me any more. I can't think, I mustn't think, of anything but father now. Nothing that you can say, or any one can say, will make me change my mind about that now.... And please go, Johnny, because it's so hard while you're here. And we must do it. I'll never change, but you're free to, and you ought to. It's your duty to find some one more satisfactory than me."
But Johnny appeared not to have heard her last words. He had been looking about him, at the walls, the windows, the ceiling--rather as a young dog sniffs some place new to him.
"Joan, tell me. Are you all right here? You oughtn't to be all alone here like this, just with your father. Can't you get some one to come and stay?"
"No," she answered bravely. "Of course it's all right. I've got Gladys, who's been with us for years."
"There's something funny," he said, still looking about him. "It feels queer to me--sort of unhappy."
"Never mind that," she said, hurriedly moving towards the door, as though she had heard footsteps. "You must go, Johnny. Kiss me once, the last time. And then no letters, no anything, until--until--father's happy again."
She rested in his arms, suddenly tranquil, safe, at peace. Her hands were round his neck. She kissed his eyes. They clung together, suddenly two children, utterly confident in one another and in their mutual faith.
A hand was on the door. They separated. The Archdeacon came in. He peered into the dusky room.