Rachel took up her thick coat and slipped it on again. She would walk with him to the road, she said—there were some more things to say.
Janet watched them go out into the wide frosty night, where the sky was shedding its clouds, and the temperature was falling rapidly. She realized that they were in that stage of passion when everything is unreal outside the one supreme thing, and all other life passes like a show half-seen. And all the while the name Tanner—Dick Tanner—echoed in her mind. Such a simple thing to put a careless question to Rachel! Yet perhaps—after all—not so simple.
Meanwhile the two lovers were together on the path through the stubbles, walking hand-in-hand through the magic of the moonlight.
"Will you write a little line to my mother to-morrow?"
"Yes, of course. But—"
He caught her long breath.
"I have prepared the way, darling. I promise you—it will be all right."
"But why—why—didn't I see you first?" It was a stifled cry, which seemed somehow to speak for them both. And she added, bitterly, "It's no good talking—it can't ever be the same—to you, or to your people."
"It shall be the same! Or rather, we shall owe you a double share of love to make up to you—for that horrible time. Forget it, dear—make yourself forget it. My mother would tell you so at once."
"Isn't she—very strict about divorce?"