“Where are you going for a year?” asked Miss Forbes.
Her voice now showed no concern. It even sounded as though she did not take his news seriously, as though as to his movements she was possessed of a knowledge superior to his own. He tried to speak in matter-of-fact tones.
“To Uganda!” he said.
“To Uganda?” repeated Miss Forbes. “Where is Uganda?”
“It is in East Africa; I had bad luck there last trip, but now I know the country better, and I ought to get some good shooting.”
Miss Forbes appeared indifferently incredulous. In her eyes there was a look of radiant happiness. It rendered them bewilderingly beautiful.
“On Wednesday,” she said. “Won’t you come and see us again before you sail for Uganda?”
Winthrop hesitated.
“I’ll stop in and say ‘good-by’ to your mother if she’s in town, and to thank her. She’s been awfully good to me. But you—I really would rather not see you again. You understand, or rather, you don’t understand, and,” he added vehemently, “you never will understand.” He stood looking down at her miserably.
On the driveway outside there was a crunching on the gravel of heavy wheels and an aurora-borealis of lights.