"I? Oh yes. When will he come?"
"I don't know," said Jack, sulkily.
"Oh! I thought you were very fond of him and that, of course, you would know when—"
"Nobody knows; if he's gone with the army into Germany it is impossible to say when the war will end." Then he made a silly, boorish observation which was, "I hope for your sake he will come soon."
Oh, but he was ashamed of it now! The groom in the stable yonder would have had better tact. Truly, it takes a man of gentle breeding to demonstrate what under-breeding really can be. If Lorraine was shocked she did not show it. A maid unloved, unloving, pardons nothing; a maid with a lover invests herself with all powers and prerogatives, and the greatest of these is the power to pardon. It is not only a power, it is a need, a desire, an imperative necessity to pardon much in him who loves much. This may be only because she also understands. Pardon and doubt repel each other. So Lorraine, having grown wise in a week, pardoned Jack mentally. Outwardly it was otherwise, and Jack became aware that the atmosphere was uncomfortably charged with lightning. It gleamed a moment in her eyes ere her lips opened.
"Take your dog-cart and go back to Morteyn," said Lorraine, quietly.
"Let me stay; I am ashamed," he said, turning red.
"No; I do not wish to see you again—for a long, long time—forever."
Her head was bent and her fingers were busy among the lilies in the gilded bowl.
"Do you send me away?"