"D'you say nothing?" he said.
"If you wish to go, Maurice, let us go."
He had got up and was standing by the low window that looked across the moor.
"Don't you see," he said, "that I am going mad in this place? And you do nothing. Why did I ever think that you could help me?"
"Try to think so still."
She, too, got up, followed him to the window and put her two hands on his shoulders.
"Perhaps the time has not come yet," she said.
Suddenly he took her hands in his and pushed her a little way from him, so that he could look clearly into her face.
"What do you mean? What can you mean?" he said. "Sometimes I think you have some secret that you keep from me, some purpose that I know nothing of. You look as if—as if you were waiting for something; were expectant; I don't know—" he broke off, "After all what does it matter? Only let us go from here. Let us get home. I hate that stretch of moorland. At night it is full of bewailing and misery."
He shuddered although the warm spring sunshine was pouring in at the window. Then he turned and left the room without another word. Lily stood still for a moment, with her eyes turned in the direction of the door. Her cheeks burned with a slight blush and her lips were half opened.