He stood, holding her small hand, under the arching elms.
"You won't remember long. And, when you do, you'll be glad that I did not marry you."
He shook his head. She broke from him and walked quickly away along the drive. Chequered sunlight and shadow fell on her small, upright figure. She moved steadily forward, not looking back at him. As he watched her go, an expression of tenderness, compassion and regret crossed his face. He sighed a little. Perhaps she was right. A wife with ideas? How queer women were! It always seemed as though he, who knew himself to be sought after, only wanted what he could never gain. He felt older and a little weary. Certainly it would be good to go where he was wanted, to have his vanity soothed by a simple, loving woman who would accept him as he was.
Queer little thing, Muriel. If he had known what she was like, would he have spoken? After all, perhaps it had been an escape.
With a sigh he turned again towards the house. Far away, on the high terrace, fluttered the rose-pink dress of Phyllis Marshall Gurney.
THE END
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
ANDERBY WOLD
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