And it was he, not she, who broke down as she pressed up closer to him, for, to her agonized distress, he pushed her away and broke into short, gasping, hard sobs.
“I can’t come back to the house,” he said at last. “Tell your uncle I’ll meet him at the station, my darling.”
She saw he was making a great effort over himself, and very gallantly she “played up.”
“All right, I’ll tell him. But Harry?”
“Yes?” he said listlessly.
“You’ll go now and get something to eat. Promise?” and for the first time her lips quivered.
“I promise.”
Again he took her in his arms. Their lips met and clung together. At last, “Oh, Jean,” he whispered brokenly, “do you think we shall ever be happy again?”
“Of course we shall,” she said confidently.
And then she walked with him through the wintry, bare garden to the field where there was a gate which gave into the road leading to Grendon. There they did not kiss again. They only shook hands quietly.