A few days, a few weeks at most, and then that state of becoming accustomed, called by pious folk, resignation." "Then you think that the every-day companionship, the every-day exchange of thoughts and ideas, counts for little or nothing ?" she asked.
"That is about the colour of it," he answered, in his old gruff way.
She thought of his words when she was packing: the many pleasant hours were to count for nothing; for nothing the little bits of fun, the little displays of temper and vexation, the snatches of serious talk, the contradictions, and all the petty details of six months' close companionship.
He was not different from the others who had parted from her so lightly.
No wonder, then, that he could sympathise with them.
That last night at Petershof, Bernardine hardened her heart against the Disagreeable Man.
"I am glad I am able to do so," she said to herself.

"It makes it easier for me to go." Then the vision of a forlorn figure rose before her.

And the little hard heart softened at once.
In the morning they breakfasted together as usual.

There was scarcely any conversation between them.

He asked for her address, and she told him that she was going back to her uncle who kept the second-hand book- shop in Stone Street.
"I will send you a guide-book from the Tyrol," he explained.