He turned it over. “Very likely. But what things?”
“The things you’ve never told me. To make up his mind what to do with you. He can’t send you back———”
“Oh, I don’t want to go back!” he broke in. “I want a new field.”
He said it with admirable serenity, with positive unimpeachable gaiety; and doubtless it was that very note that most evoked for me the poignancy, the unnatural childish tragedy, of his probable reappearance at the end of three months with all this bravado and still more dishonour. It overwhelmed me now that I should never be able to bear that, and it made me let myself go. I threw myself upon him and in the tenderness of my pity I embraced him. “Dear little Miles, dear little Miles———!”
My face was close to his, and he let me kiss him, simply taking it with indulgent good-humour. “Well, old lady?”
“Is there nothing—nothing at all that you want to tell me?”
He turned off a little, facing round toward the wall and holding up his hand to look at as one had seen sick children look. “I’ve told you—I told you this morning.”
