She gave him his tea. Before he tasted it he got up and poured out a cup for her. She drank a little at his bidding, then pushed the cup from her, choking. She sat, not looking at him, but looking away, through the window, across the garden and the fields.
"I must go now," he said. "Don't come with me."
She started to her feet.
"Ah, let me come."
"Better not. Much better not."
"I must," she said.
They set out along the field-track. Steve, carrying his master's luggage, went in front, at a little distance. He didn't want to see them, still less to hear them speak.
But they did not speak.
At the creek's bank Steve was ready with the boat.
Majendie took Maggie's hand and pressed it. She flung herself on him, and he had to loose her hold by main force. She swayed, clutching at him to steady herself. He heard Steve groan. He put his hand on her shoulder, and kept it there a moment, till she stood firm. Her eyes, fixed on his, struck tears from them, tears that cut their way like knives under his eyelids.