The Romantic

by May Sinclair

"He was going to keep it, or he'd have handed it over to me with the other things."

"Does it matter?"

"Well—"

She thought: "Why can't he leave it alone? They had all his things, his poor things."

But Sutton was still thoughtful. "I wonder why he gave it you."

"I think he was sorry."

"Was he!"

"Sorry for me, I mean."

Sutton said nothing. He was absorbed in contemplating the photograph. They had been taken standing by the hurdle of the sheepfold, she with the young lamb in her arms and John looking down at her.

"That was taken at Barrow Hill Farm," she said, "where we were together. He looked just like that…. Oh, Billy, do you think the past's really past?… Isn't there some way he could go on being what he was?"