“There was no help for it,” continued Miss Tyrell.
“Didn’t seem like it,” said the more accurate Fraser.
His head was in a whirl, and he tried vainly to think of the exact terms in which she had announced her intention to emigrate, and combated the objections which he thought himself justified in advancing. He began to remember in a misty, uncertain fashion that they were somewhat vague and disjointed, and for one brief moment he wondered whether she had ever had any idea of going at all. One glance at the small figure of probity opposite was enough, and he repelled the idea as unworthy.
“I believe that you are sorry I didn’t go,” said Poppy, suddenly.
“I’m sorry for Flower,” said the other.
“He will be back in six or seven months,” said Poppy, gently; “that will soon pass away. I shall not be very old to marry even then. Perhaps it is all for the best—I don’t like—”
“Don’t like?” prompted Fraser.
“Don’t like to be hurried,” continued Miss Tyrell, looking down.
There was another pause. The girl got up and, walking to the window, gazed out upon the street.
“There is a nice air in the streets now,” she said at length, without turning round.