“Oh, but I love you so,” said Adam, illogically. “If you must go, though, you must. I know I can never tell you how much I love you, dearest.”
“Oh, Adam!” she said, expressing more than he did, poor fellow, in all his protestations. “Oh, dear! I really must go, Adam. But in about a week I am sure he will be much better.”
“Shan’t I see you for a week?” said he.
“It might be better not,” she answered, “if we could wait.”
“I could go down to see my poor old beef-eaters, I suppose,” Adam mused.
In relating his travels, on the road, he had told Garde of the beef-eaters, so that now, although she said nothing to betray herself, she understood what he meant.
“And then you’ll come back, as soon as you can, in a few days, or a week?” she asked. “Oh, dear—it is too bad. But, Adam, I must not remain another single minute. I must say good night, dear, and run.”
Adam had remained on his own side of the gate, retaining her hands, which he had kissed repeatedly, till they fairly burned with their tingling. He now reached over the gate and took her sweet face between his two big palms.
“Good night, dearest little love,” he said, and slowly leaning forward, he kissed her, once—then he kissed her three times more.
She started slowly away, looking back at him lovingly.