He stood in the doorway a moment, looking at her with beseeching eyes. She kept her face half averted, and would not look at him, but stood pale and cold, biting her underlip. He turned sharply away with a motion of keen disappointment, set the engines of the car into action, mounted, and drove quickly away.
Lettie stood pale and inscrutable for some moments. Then she went in to breakfast and sat toying with her food, keeping her head bent down, her face hidden.
In less than an hour he was back again, saying he had left something behind. He ran upstairs, and then, hesitating, went into the room where Lettie was still sitting at table.
“I had to come back,” he said.
She lifted her face towards him, but kept her eyes averted, looking out of the window. She was flushed.
“What had you forgotten?” she asked.
“I’d left my cigarette case,” he replied.
There was an awkward silence.
“But I shall have to be getting off,” he added.
“Yes, I suppose you will,” she replied.
After another pause, he asked:
“Won’t you just walk down the path with me?”
She rose without answering. He took a shawl and put it round her carefully. She merely allowed him. They walked in silence down the garden.
“You—are you—are you angry with me?” he faltered.
Tears suddenly came to her eyes.
“What did you come back for?” she said, averting her face from him. He looked at her.
