He went toward the door, his head down, his face gentle and strong. She started up.
“You are not going?”
“There is nothing to stay for.”
“You don’t say one word of blame——”
“It is no good, and I have no right. Go to him, dear.”
“You forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive. I should have done as you have done. Not a woman in the world would hold me back from you, if you were free.”
“But the wedding? What will people say?”
“Let them say. That’s nothing.”
“Those things are everything. You are going to live and die in this place. For your sake, not mine”—she looked lingeringly at the yellow fields and rainbow flower-beds—“we must tell Aunt Sophy a plausible story. I’ll write a note, tell her that Edred is ill—a long illness—and wants me. Later on, by degrees, you can let them know that I am never coming back.”