“Oh, I’m putting up at the Inns of Court—I always go there.”
“I thought you might care to go to the theatre to-night. I’ve got a box, so that Aunt Polly and Gerald can come too.”
“I’m game for anything you like.”
“You always were the best-tempered man,” said Bertha, smiling gently.
“You don’t seem to care very much for my society, all the same.”
Bertha looked up quickly. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, you’re a precious long time coming back to Court Leys,” he replied, laughing.
Bertha was relieved, for evidently he was not taking the matter seriously. She had not the courage to say that she meant never to return: the endless explanation, his wonder, the impossibility of making him understand, were more than she could bear.
“When are you coming back? We all miss you, like anything.”
“Do you?” she said. “I really don’t know. We’ll see after the season.”