He loitered on, not admitting that he was looking for May, but very sore
to think that she had wandered away to a sad solitude rather than be with
her friends; since she did that, she was wounded indeed. There was a seat
round an old tree-trunk at the farther side of the shrubbery; the memory
of it really directed his apparently aimless steps, and as he approached
it he threw away his half-smoked cigar; he thought he would find her
there; what he would say to her he did not know.
He was right. There, she sat, very still, and looking pale under the
moon. Coming up to her he said, "I know you want to be alone, don't you?"
She smiled and answered, "No, stay. I'm glad to have you," and he sat
down by her. She was silent, her eyes gazing steadily in front of her;
the air was sweet and very still. Now he needed no telling that his guess
at the situation had been right, that she had shielded her husband at her
own cost; her face told him what the cost seemed to her. A great
indignation against the man filled him, gaining unacknowledged
reinforcement from the love he himself had for the woman.
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