“Yes, I did mean that. I am sorry. I did hope it would be possible.” She compressed her lips, then added: “Of course I should have seen that it wasn't possible, after what happened.”
“Very well,” said he.
They walked on, silent, past the woods, past more plowed fields, up another hillside.
She broke the silence. Gravely, she said: “I will say just one thing more, since you already know so much. Zarin signs up with Silverstone to-morrow morning. Or as soon as they can finish drawing up the contracts. Then within one or two weeks—very soon, certainly—we go down to Cuba or Florida to begin taking the outdoor scenes. That, you see, settles it.”
Peter's mind blurred again. Ugly foggy thoughts rushed over it. He stopped short, his long gloomy face workhing nervously.
“Good God!” he broke out. “You mean to say—you're going to let those crooks take you off—to Cuba! Don't you see...”
There was no object in saying more. Even Peter could see that. For Sue, after one brief look at his sputtering, distorted face, had turned away and was now walking swiftly on up the hill.
“Wait!” he called. “Sue!”
She reached the top of the hill, passed on over the crest. Gradually she disappeared down the farther slope—the tam o'shanter last.