"It would be better to say good-bye," she persisted. "I'm afraid—you expect in me—what I haven't got. I see that now. Because I'm keen about this work, and I can run this farm, you think—perhaps—I'm a strong character. But I'm not. I've no judgment—not in moral things. I give in—I'm weak—and then—I could kill myself!"
She had grown very white again—and her eyes were strangely fixed on him. The words seemed to him incoherent, out of touch somehow even with their tragic conversation. But his first passing bewilderment was lost in pity and passion. He stopped, took her hand, and kissed it. He came nearer.
But again she drew back.
"There's Janet!" she said, "we can't talk any more."
For she had caught sight of Janet in the farm-yard, leading her bicycle.
"Can you meet me to-morrow evening—on the Common?" he said. "I could be there about six."
She frowned a little.
"Is it worth while?"
"I beg you!" he said huskily.
"Very well—I'll come. We shall be just friends, please."