As he sat watching the snow-covered fell slide by the chaise window, he was unconscious how clearly his misery was stamped on his features; or how pitiful was the hunger that lurked in the hollows under his eyes. But when the pace slackened, and the carriage began to crawl up the long hill beyond Broadgate, a faint sound caught his ear, and he remembered where he was, and turned. He saw that she was crying.
The same words came to his lips.
“I am sorry. I am very sorry,” he said. “But it is over now.”
“It’s not that,” she sobbed. “I am sorry for you! And for him! The poor boy! The poor boy! Last night—no, it was the night before—-I thought that he called to me. I thought that he was there in the room with me!”
“Don’t!” he faltered. “I cannot bear it! Don’t!”
But she did not heed.
“Yes,” she repeated. “And ever since, ever since I’ve been thinking of him! I’ve wondered, I’ve wondered if I did right!”
He was silent, striving to regain control of himself. But at last,
“Eight in saying nothing?” he asked.
His voice shook a little, and he kept his eyes averted.