She shook her head.

He sought to turn her face to his, but she looked stubbornly away.
"And when will you return ?" she asked.
"In a few months, Sylvia." "When ?" "In June." And she counted off the months upon her fingers.
"So after to-night," she said, in a low voice, "I shall not see you any more for all these months.

The winter must pass, and the spring, too.

Oh, Hilary!" and she turned to him with a quivering face and whispered piteously: "Don't go, my dear.

Don't go!" "Say that I must go!" he insisted, and she laughed with scorn.