His face brightened at once.

"Will you really come to us soon, at once--if they ask you? Then I don't
mind--I--I--" And then he stopped, choking.

She said again:

"Ask us. We will come."

He seized her hand; pressed and pressed it in both his own, then stroked
it gently, and said:

"Oh! I'm hurting it!"

She laughed, not wishing to cry.

In a few minutes he would have to start to catch the only train that
would get him home in time.

She went and helped him to pack. Her heart felt like lead, but, not
able to bear that look on his face again, she kept cheerfully talking
of their return, asking about his home, how to get to it, speaking of
Oxford and next term. When his things were ready she put her arms round
his neck, and for a moment pressed him to her. Then she escaped.
Looking back from his door, she saw him standing exactly as when she
had withdrawn her arms. Her cheeks were wet; she dried them as she went
downstairs. When she felt herself safe, she went out on the terrace. Her
husband was there, and she said to him:

"Will you come with me into the town? I want to buy some things."