"You can't—you don't mean——?" Robin turned back to her.
"I mean nothing—only I am—tired. You had better go. We will write if there is anything more."
"Look here!" Robin was trembling from head to foot. "You must let me have them back. It's serious—more than you know. People might see them and—my God! you would ruin me!"
He was speaking melodramatically, and he looked melodramatic and very ridiculous. He was crushing his bowler in his hands.
"No. I will keep them!" She spoke slowly and quite calmly, as though she had thought it all out before. "They are valuable. Now you must go. This has been silly enough—Good-bye."
She turned to the window and he was dismissed. His pride came to the rescue; he would not let her see that he cared, so he went—without another word.
She stood in the same position, and watched him go down the street. He was walking quickly and at the same time a little furtively, as though he was afraid of meeting acquaintances. She turned away from the window, and then, suddenly, knelt on the floor with her head in her hands. She sobbed miserably, hopelessly, with her hands pressed against her face.
And Mrs. Feverel found her kneeling there in the sunlight an hour later.
"Dahlia," she said softly, "Dahlia!"
The girl looked up. "He has gone, mother," she said. "And he is never coming back. I sent him away."