Presently she stood up. "They will wonder where I am," she said. "I think I must be going."
He followed her to the road. "Then this is the end?" he said, with a curious mixture of relief and poignant regret.
"Yes, this is the end," she answered, and turned away.
There straightway dropped into the soul of Aubrey Vair a sense of infinite loss. It was an altogether new sensation. She was perhaps twenty yards away, when he groaned aloud with the weight of it, and suddenly began running after her with his arms extended.
"Annie," he cried,—"Annie! I have been talking rot. Annie, now I know I love you! I cannot spare you. This must not be. I did not understand."
The weight was horrible.
"Oh, stop, Annie!" he cried, with a breaking voice, and there were tears on his face.
She turned upon him suddenly, and his arms fell by his side. His expression changed at the sight of her pale face.
"You do not understand," she said. "I have said good-bye."
She looked at him; he was evidently greatly distressed, a little out of breath, and he had just stopped blubbering. His contemptible quality reached the pathetic. She came up close to him, and, taking his damp Byronic visage between her hands, she kissed him again and again. "Good-bye, little man that I loved," she said; "and good-bye to this folly of love."
