The visit prolonged itself from a week to a fortnight. Estelle did not sleep the night before Lionel went. She tossed feverishly to and fro, planning their parting. Surely he would not leave her without a word? Surely there must be some touch of sentiment to this separation, horrible and inevitable, that lay before them?
She remembered afterwards that as she lay in the dark and foresaw her loneliness she wondered if she wouldn't after all risk the Indian frontier to be near him? She was subsequently glad she had decided that she wouldn't.
It was a very wet morning, and Lionel was to leave before lunch. Winn went as usual into his study to play with his eternal experiments in leather. Lionel went with him. She heard the two men laughing together down the passage. Could real friends have laughed if they had minded parting with each other?
She sat at her desk in the drawing-room biting nervously at her pen. He was going; was it possible that there would be no farewell?
Just some terrible flat hand-shake at the door under Winn's penetrating eyes.
But after a time she heard steps returning. Lionel came by himself.
"Are you busy?" he asked. "Shall I bother you if we talk a little?"
"No," she said softly. "I hoped you would come back."
Lionel did not answer for a moment. For the first time in their acquaintance he was really a little stirred. He moved about the room restlessly, he wouldn't sit down, though half unconsciously she had put her hand on the chair beside her.
"Do you know," he said at last, "I've got something to say to you, and I'm awfully afraid it may annoy you."