"You wish to prosecute this romantic episode?"

Did he mean anything--or was it simply his way of putting things?

"I naturally want to be anywhere but here."

"Perhaps you would like to go alone?"

He said that, of course, knowing she could not say: Yes. And she
answered simply: "No."

"Then let us both go--on Monday. I will catch the young man's trout;
thou shalt catch--h'm!--he shall catch--What is it he catches--trees?
Good! That's settled."

And, three days later, without another word exchanged on the subject,
they started.

Was she grateful to him? No. Afraid of him? No. Scornful of him? Not
quite. But she was afraid of HERSELF, horribly. How would she ever be
able to keep herself in hand, how disguise from these people that she
loved their boy? It was her desperate mood that she feared. But since
she so much wanted all the best for him that life could give, surely she
would have the strength to do nothing that might harm him. Yet she was
afraid.

He was there at the station to meet them, in riding things and a nice
rough Norfolk jacket that she did not recognize, though she thought she
knew his clothes by heart; and as the train came slowly to a standstill