“I think it would be hard to get away from Mr. Duncan if we met him—even if we wanted to,” she said, laughing outright.
“You don't know how true that is,” he replied, with feeling.
“That sounds as though you'd tried it before.”
He paid no attention to this thrust.
“I shan't see you again till I get to Brampton,” he said; “that will be a whole week. And then,” he ventured to look at her, “I shan't see you until the Christmas holidays. You might be a little kind, Cynthia. You know I've—I've always thought the world of you. I don't know how I'm going to get through the three months without seeing you.”
“You managed to get through a good many years,” said Cynthia, looking at the pavement.
“I know,” he said; “I was sent away to school and college, and our lives separated.”
“Yes, our lives separated,” she assented.
“And I didn't know you were going to be like—like this,” he went on, vaguely enough, but with feeling.
“Like what?”