But that was too much for her, and she stamped her foot and said I'd do nothing of the kind. She didn't want anybody to walk with her.
And when I inquired about her luggage—But I can't repeat what she said about her luggage!
Then she softened suddenly, as her way was, and kissed Norah, and said I was a dear, and she was sorry for snapping my head off, but it was all right. Norah knew all about it. She'd explain.
I can see her standing in the postern doorway and saying these things and then giving me her hand and holding mine tight, while she shook her head at me and smiled that little baffling smile that seemed to come up flickering from her depths of wisdom on purpose to put me in the wrong.
"The trouble with you, Furny," she said, "is that you're much too good."
She went; and we saw her tall, lithe figure swinging up the lane, past the courtyard and the paddock and the moor.
Then Norah plucked me in by the coat-sleeve as if she thought we oughtn't to be looking at her. We shut the door on her flight and turned to each other where we stood on the flagged path before the house.
"What does it mean?" I said.
"It means that she's at the end of her tether."
"The end—?" I think I must have gasped.