‘Oh, turn! Oh, turn!’ she sent after him silently.
But if he did she would dissolve, be swallowed up....
He did not turn his head; and she watched him go on, past the next-door garden and still onward;—going on all night perhaps....
If only he had seen her he would have beckoned to her.
‘Judith, come with me.’
‘I will.’
And all night they would have floated on together.
Some day it would happen: it must. She had always known that the play of Roddy must be written and that she must act in it to the end—the happy end.
‘Oh, Roddy, I am going to love you.’
The diminishing, unresponsive blot which was he passed out of sight.