"
"I'm not pretending. You sounded sorry and I was sorry for you. That
was all."
At that his egoism winced. It was as if she had accused him of
pretending to be sorry.
He looked at her sharply. His romantic youth died in that look.
* * * * *
Silence fell between them. But she was used to that. She even welcomed
it. Steven's silences brought him nearer to her than his speech.
Essy came in with the tea-tray.
He lingered uneasily after the meal, glancing now and then at the
clock. She was used to that, too. She also had her eyes on the clock,
measuring the priceless moments.
* * * * *
"Is anything worrying you, Steven?" she said presently.
"Why? Do I look worried?"
"Not exactly, but you don't look well."
"I'm getting a bit rusty. That's what's the matter with me. I want
some hard work to rub me up and put a polish on me and I can't get
it here. I've never had enough to do since I left Leeds. Harker was a
wise chap to stick to it. It would do me all the good in the world if
I went back."
"Then," she said, "you'll _have_ to go, Steven."
She did not know, in her isolation, that Rowcliffe had been going
about saying that sort of thing for the last seven years. She thought
it was the formidable discovery of time.
"You ought to go if you feel like that about it. Why don't you?"
"I don't know."
"You _do_ know."
She did not look at him as she spoke, so she missed his bewilderment.
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