She sprang to her feet and clutched his arm.
"Never. Never, do you hear? I couldn't bear it. Mother, Zora—I couldn't see them again. Last night they nearly drove me into hysterics. What do you suppose I came out for at this hour, if it wasn't to avoid meeting them? Let us go on. If I die on the road, so much the better."
"Perhaps," said Septimus, "I could carry you."
She softened, linked her arm in his, and almost laughed, as they started up the hill.
"What a good fellow you are, and I've been behaving like a beast. Anyone but you would have worried me with questions—and small wonder. But you haven't even asked me—"
"Hush," said Septimus. "I know. I saw the paragraph in the newspaper. Don't let's talk of it. Let us talk of something else. Do you like honey? The Great Bear put me in mind. Wiggleswick wants to keep bees. I tell him, if he does, I'll keep a bear. He could eat the honey, you see. And then I could teach him to dance by playing the bassoon to him. Perhaps he would like the bassoon," he continued, after a pause, in his wistful way. "Nobody else does."
"If you had it with you now, I should love it for your sake," said Emmy with a sob.
"If you would take my advice and rest in the cottage, I could send for it," he replied unsmilingly.
"We must catch the train," said Emmy.
In Wirley, half a mile further, folks were stirring. A cart laden with market produce waited by a cottage door for the driver who stood swallowing his final cup of tea. A bare-headed child clung round his leg, an attendant Hebe. The wanderers halted.