She stood outlined against a patch of wintry sky. It was the first time that he had seen her since her return. He thought that she was paler than in the valiant days of their friendship, and certainly the way she did her hair gave her a grown-up look. The stifling sensation in his throat became worse, and he could not speak.
"What is it ... Mr. Furlonger?"
"I—I want to speak to you."
"Oh, no! I can't!" Her voice was quite childish.
"I must—please do."
She hesitated a moment.
"Then come into the shrubbery. We can be seen here from the house."
"I know. I'm not here to get you into trouble. I—I only came to say good-bye."
"Good-bye," she repeated vaguely, not quite understanding him, for her heart had said good-bye to him long ago.
"Yes—I'm going to London."