Then Roddy's telegram came. From Queenstown.
"Been ill. Coming home. Expect me to-morrow. Rodney."
She knew then that she would not go to Agaye.
IV.
But not all at once.
When she thought of Roddy it was easy to say quietly to herself, "I shall have to give it up." When she thought of Mr. Sutcliffe and the Paris-Lyons-Mediterranée train and the shining, gold-white, unknown towns, it seemed to her that it was impossible to give up going to Agaye. You simply could not do it.
She shut her eyes. She could feel Mr. Sutcliffe beside her in the train and the carriage rocking. Dijon, Avignon, Cannes. She could hear his voice telling her the names. She would stand beside him at the window, and look out. And Mrs. Sutcliffe would sit in her corner, and smile at them kindly, glad because they were so happy.
"Roddy doesn't say he is ill," her mother said. "I wonder what he's coming home for."
Supposing you had really gone? Supposing you were at Agaye when Roddy—
The thought of Roddy gave her a pain in her heart. The thought of not going to Agaye dragged at her waist and made her feel weak, suddenly, as if she were trying to stand after an illness.