might be going for good and all. And it is only for a week.'
She did not answer, but pressed the hand that closed over her own.
During the half-hour's run to Waterloo he continued to glance furtively, and not without apprehension, at her face. It was unusually pale; dark rings encircled the eyes, and the eyes were unusually brilliant.
They had a compartment to themselves. He held her hand all the way, and she his, like a pair of moonstruck young lovers; and, for the most part, they were as silent.
'You have not been yourself these last few days,' he said at length; 'I am glad you are going.'
'And I am glad of that,' she answered.
Her tone was odd.
'But I shall be wretched while you are gone,' he quickly added.
She made no reply to this; it seemed to her an afterthought. But, if it was, it grew upon him with swift and miserable effect as the minutes remaining to them gradually
