“As soon as you can find some one to take my place.”
Coventry remained silent, his fingers trifling absently with a small silver calendar that stood on his desk, pushing it backwards and forwards.
“That’s rather a strange request,” he said at last.
“I don’t think so,” answered Robin, quietly, looking at him very directly.
He returned the glance with grave eyes.
“I suppose I understand what you mean,” he said slowly.
“I suppose you do,” returned Robin bluntly. “But we needn’t speak of that. I came merely to ask you to accept my resignation.”
Again Eliot made no immediate response. He was trying to realise it—to visualise the Cottage empty, or occupied by some one who was no more than an ordinary estate agent—just his man of business. To conceive Silverquay void of Ann’s presence, know her no longer there, be ignorant of where she was in the big world ... whether well or ill.... He found that the bare idea wrought an exquisite agony within him. It was like probing a raw wound.
“No!” He spoke very suddenly, his voice so harsh that it seemed to grate on the quiet of the room. “No. You can’t leave, Lovell. Our arrangement was six months’ notice on either side. I claim that notice.”
Robin drew a deep breath.