She breaks into a laugh.
'They are in no such great hurry for it,' says she gaily; 'they could have waited until to-morrow.'
He sighs.
'I am afraid that they would have had to wait longer than until to-morrow!'
'Well, I daresay that they might have made shift until Wednesday,' returns she.
The entire unsuspiciousness of her tone makes his task a tenfold harder one than it would otherwise have been.
'It is—it is better that you should take it yourself to them,' he says, hesitating and floundering. 'I—I—might be prevented after all from coming. There is a chance of my—my—being obliged after all to go to-morrow!'
The star and moonlight are falling full on her face, lifted and attentive: he can see it as plainly as at high noonday. It seems to him that a tiny change passes over it. But still she does not suspect the truth.
'What!' says she; 'has your chief telegraphed for you? What a thing it is to be so indispensable!'
Shall he leave her in her error? Nothing would be easier! Leave her in the belief that a legitimate summons to honourable work has called him away; leave her with a friendly face turned towards him, expecting and perhaps lightly hoping his return. The temptation is strong, but he conquers it.