He had
seen her only two days before, and their conversation had been of
the ordinary kind; Maud had given him no hint of her purpose, not
even when he spoke to her of the coming holiday season, and the
necessity of her having a change. She confessed she was not well.
Sometimes, when they had both sat for some minutes in silence, she
would raise her eyes and meet his gaze steadily, seeming to search
for something. Waymark could not face this look; it drove him to
break the suspense by any kind of remark on an indifferent subject.
He remembered now that she had gazed at him in that way persistently
on the last evening that they were together. When he was saying
good-bye, and as he bent to kiss her, she held him back for a
moment, and seemed to wish to say something. Doubtless she had been
on the point of telling him that she was going away; but she let him
leave in silence.
It was not a long letter that she wrote; she merely said that change
had become indispensable to body and soul, and that it had seemed
best to make it suddenly.
"I hope," she wrote in conclusion, "that you will see my father as
often as you can; he is very much in need of friendly company, and I
should like you to be able to send me news of him.
Pages:
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495