"There you are—you know perfectly well you can't! However, I don't intend to bother you about that now. What I want to suggest now is that we had better be apart for a while, now that we know how things stand between us—not see anything of each other for a long time. That's the best way. That's how I fell in love with you—how I became sure about it, at any rate. That was why I went to North Carolina, of course."
Madge thought seriously for a moment or two. What he said seemed reasonable. If he did go entirely out of her head after a few months' absence, he would be out of it for good and all, and there was the end of it. Whereas, in the unlikely event of his not going out of her head, but going into her heart, she would be much surer of herself than if under the continual stimulus and charm of his presence.
"Well," she said at length. "But how will you arrange it?"
"I shall simply go away—to-morrow. Abroad. You'll be here?"
"Yes."
"What do you do this summer?"
"I'm not sure—that is, I had thought of going to Bar Harbor, with the Gilsons—as governess. They have a dear little girl."
Harry made a gesture of impatience. "I suppose that's as good as anything. If you'll be happy?"
"Oh, perfectly. I should enjoy that, actually, more than anything else. Mama'll be with Aunt Tizzy. I think I'll do it, now. I'd rather be doing something."
"Well, we'll meet here, then, at the end of the summer, in September. I suppose we'd better not write. Unless, that is, you see light before the time is up. Then you're to let me know—that's part of the bargain. Just wire to my bankers the single word, 'Elliston.' I'll know."