Miss Percival, ignoring what she chose to ignore, said again, “I hope you won't go.”
The young man shifted his ground, and dug his heel into the turf. “I must—indeed, I must.”
“Where shall you go?”
“God knows.”
“Why must you go?”
“You know why.”
“Is it because of Menzies?”
He threw his head up. “Menzies, forsooth!” He scorned Menzies.
“Then I don't see why you should go. I shouldn't like it. I hope you will stay.”
He looked at her now across the dusk, intensely. “You hope I will stay?”