“Time to break up camp,” he said fretfully. “It’s impossible here!”
“Yes; I suppose so,” she said slowly.
“I can’t stand being spied on—being watched. I can’t paint.”
“But it’s midsummer——”
“I know that, and yet it annoys me. I can’t bear to be idle. There’s so much to be done! It isn’t that—it’s—it’s I want to get away—to be alone. You understand?”
“Of course.”
She nodded, trying to conceal her disappointment, though, for a moment, the horror of change, of the venture into an unknown land was so keen, that she burst out suddenly:
“I hate to go!”
“I also—I hate to go,” he said gloomily.