'I always respect and honour you. I know that you are upright and good, and I would love you if I could. I may do so some day, but the weed must be rooted out before the grain is sown.'
'Very well, Mirelle. You said as we walked back from Willapark that here we have the cross hammered into our lives. You have yours, I have mine. It must be so. Perhaps a better time may be in store for both of us.'
'Perhaps.' She looked sadly out of the window. The sun had set, and the golden path on the sea was turned to quicksilver. She rose and moved towards the door into her own room.
'I am very tired. Shall we say Good night?'
'And good-bye. I leave before morning.'
'It is best so.'
She hung about the door, looking timidly at him. Her hand was on the latch, and it shook; she removed it, but presently put it on again.
'When am I to return? In a month, or two months?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'I cannot say; I will write to you. Give me your address before you leave.'
'There are one or two little matters connected with our affairs here that ought to be discussed.'