Ten o'clock struck. Then Lyndall rose, gathered up her papers and letters,
and wished Gregory good night. Some time after Em entered; she had been
sitting all the while on the loft ladder, and had drawn her kapje down very
much over her face.
Gregory was piecing together the bits of an envelope when she came in.
"I thought you were never coming," he said, turning round quickly, and
throwing the fragments onto the floor. "You know I have been shearing all
day, and it is ten o'clock already."
"I'm sorry. I did not think you would be going so soon," she said in a low
voice.
"I can't hear what you say. What makes you mumble so? Well, good night,
Em."
He stooped down hastily to kiss her.
"I want to talk to you, Gregory."
"Well, make haste," he said pettishly. "I'm awfully tired. I've been
sitting here all the evening. Why couldn't you come and talk before?"
"I will not keep you long," she answered very steadily now. "I think,
Gregory, it would be better if you and I were never to be married."
"Good Heaven! Em, what do you mean? I thought you were so fond of me?
You always professed to be. What on earth have you taken into your head
now?"
"I think it would be better," she said, folding her hands over each other,
very much as though she were praying.
"Better, Em! What do you mean? Even a woman can't take a freak all about
nothing! You must have some reason for it, and I'm sure I've done nothing
to offend you.
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