'And you leave England for that far-away land so soon?'
'The sooner the better.'
'Won't you come and see Mary ere you go?'
'I should indeed like to see dear Mary once again—she was always true to me,' said Robert.
'Do come, then,' urged Ellinor, heedless of the deduction.
'Not now, for I am almost due at Hounslow; but when I come, I must be—in uniform.'
'That matters nothing; no one here knows us or cares for us. Oh, how happy she will be to see you in one sense, and so sorry in another! The uniform is but a trifle in one way.'
'Moments make the year, and trifles life,' said Robert, with bitter smile, quoting Young's satire.
Ellinor gave him their address—they shook hands like friends, these two who might have been all in the world to each other, though in the world their paths in life would lie far apart now—there was a minute's pause, and in a moment more Ellinor was alone.
Her drawing was effectually marred for the day; her head swam and her hand shook, and forgetting all about Horace Walpole's tree, she slowly quitted the park.