"Yes—I should be able to know where you were."
"I will then."
"I shall be imagining you all the time.... What shall you do this evening?"
"Reproach myself," she said.
"No, you mustn't; what for? Will you think of me?"
"Yes. After dinner I'll go on the terrace, Con, and I'll sit there alone, wondering what you're doing, and thinking of—just now. And—well, perhaps I'll say a little prayer for you. I must go now. Say 'good-bye' to me."
"I can't," he gasped, "I can't."
"Con, I must."
"Give me something," he stammered; "give me something you've got on."
She broke off a handful of the flowers they had crushed, and, stooping, took his strained face between her palms, and kissed him twice—once on the lips, and, by impulse, on the brow. Then she opened the door cautiously. She smiled back at him, and stole away into the passage. And in the loneliness she left behind her, the boy lay kissing her lilies, and sobbing with his great despair.