t. You'll see it soon."

He glanced at her under his bent brows.

"I don't know," he said, "that I want to see it. _That_ isn't what's the
matter with me. You don't understand the situation. It isn't all over.
She's only being good about it. She doesn't care a rap about me. She
_can't_. And what's more I don't want her to."

"You--don't--want her to?"

He burst out. "My God, I want nothing in this world but _you_. And I
can't have you. That's what's the matter with me."

"No, no, it isn't," she cried. "You don't know."

"I do know. It's hurting me. And----" he looked at her and his voice
shook--"it's hurting _you_. I won't have you hurt."

He started forward suddenly as if he would have taken her in his arms.
She put up her hands to keep him off.

"No, no!" she cried. "I'm all right. I'm all right. It isn't that. You
mustn't think it."

"I know it. That's why I came."

He came near again. He seized her struggling hands.

"Agatha, why can't we? Why shouldn't we?"

"No, no," she moaned. "We can't. We mustn't. Not _that_ way. I don't
want it, Rodney, that way."

"It shall be any way you like. Only don't beat me off."

"I'm not--beating--you--off."

She stood up. Her face changed suddenly.

"Rodney--I forgot. They're coming."

"Who are they?"

"The Powells. They're coming to lunch."

"Can't you put them off?"

"I can, but it wouldn't be very wise, dear. They might think----"

"Confound them--they _would_ think."

He was pulling himself visibly together.

"I'm afraid, Aggy, I ought----"

"I know--you must. You must go soon." He looked at his watch.

"I must go _now_, dear. I daren't stay. It's dangerous."

"I know," she whispered.

"But when is the brute going?"

"Poor darling, he's going next week--next Thursday."

"Well then, I'll--I'll----"

"Please, you must go."

"I'm going."

She held out her hand.

"I daren't touch you," he whispered. "I'm going now. But I'll come again
next Friday, and I'll stay."

As she saw his drawn face there was not any strength in her to say
"No."

CHAPTER EIGHT

He had gone. She gathered herself together and went across the field to
meet the Powells as if nothing had happened.

Milly and her husband were standing at the gate of the Farm. They were
watching; yes, they were watching Rodney Lanyon as he crossed the river
by the Farm bridge which led up the hill by the field path that slanted
to the farther and western end of the wood. The