“Somehow that wouldn't settle anything, for me,” he replied.
Coggs had turned at the usual limit of her afternoon driving, and they were slowly moving back to the town. Cottar's Neck was fading into the early gloom, and a group of men stared at Jason seated in the Canderays' carriage as if their eyes were being played with in the uncertain light.
“Have you thought any more about going West?” she inquired.
They had stopped for his descent at Marlboro
Street, and he stood with a hand on the wheel. “I had intended to go this morning.”
He held her gaze steadily, and she felt a swift coldness touch her into a shiver.
“Tomorrow?” This came in a spirit of perversity against her every other instinct.
“Shall I?”
“Would you be happier in San Francisco?” Jason Burrage made a hopeless gesture.
“... for supper,” Honora found herself saying in a rush; “at six o'clock. If you aren't bound for California.”