“You need not leave Trelasco,” she said gently. “I am going away to-morrow.”
“Going away! Where?”
“To London first, and then to India.”
“To Burmah? Impossible!”
“If not to the front, to the nearest convenient station. I am going to my husband; as nearly as I can reach him; and as quickly as I can make the journey.”
“You are dreaming.”
“No, I have quite made up my mind. I hated to be left behind last year; and now that his return is deferred my only chance of happiness is to go to him. Some one called me a grass widow the other day. What a detestable name!”
“Give me this one waltz?” he asked, without any comment upon her intended journey.
“Impossible. I told them all I shouldn’t dance any more.”
“Oh, your partners are all in the supper-room, I dare say. The dancing men go in last. Hark! it’s the Myosotis. Just one turn—only one.”