We could have made it a daily." He searched in vain for a trace of raillery in her voice; there was none; she seemed to intend her words to be taken literally.
"I don't understand," he said.

"I don't know what you mean." "I mean that I want to stay here; that I ought to stay here; that my conscience tells me I should--but I can't and it makes me very unhappy.
That was why I acted so badly." "Your conscience!" he cried.
"Oh, I know what a jumble and puzzle it must seem to you." "I only know one thing; that you are going away to-morrow morning, and that I shall never see you again." The darkness had grown heavy.

They could not see each other; but a wan glimmer gave him a fleeting, misty view of her; she stood half-turned away from him, her hand to her cheek in the uncertain fashion of his great moment of the afternoon; her eyes-he saw in the flying picture that he caught--were adorably troubled and her hand trembled.

She had been irresistible in her gaiety; but now that a mysterious distress assailed her, the reason for which he had no guess, she was so divinely pathetic; and seemed such a rich and lovely and sad and happy thing to have come into his life only to go out of it; and he was so full of the prophetic sense of loss of her--it seemed so much like losing everything--that he found too much to say to be able to say anything.
He tried to speak, and choked a little.

A big drop of rain fell on his bare head.