Лето
XIV
Harneyleanedinthewindow,afrownonhisface:hewastwirlingbetweenhisfingersasmallpackagethatdangledfromaloopofstring....CharityheardMr.Royalldrawahardbreathortwo,andhisshouldersshookalittle.Presentlyhestoodupandwalkedacrosstheroom.Hedidnotlookagainattheyoungpeople:theysawhimfeelhiswaytothedoorandfumbleforthelatch;andthenhewentoutintothedarkness.
Afterhehadgonetherewasalongsilence.CharitywaitedforHarneytospeak;butheseemedatfirstnottofindanythingtosay.Atlengthhebrokeoutirrelevantly:“Iwonderhowhefoundout?”
Shemadenoanswerandhetosseddownthepackagehehadbeenholding,andwentuptoher.
“I’msosorry,dear...thatthisshouldhavehappened....”
Shethrewherheadbackproudly.“Iain’teverbeensorry—notaminute!”
“No.”
Shewaitedtobecaughtintohisarms,butheturnedawayfromherirresolutely.ThelastglowwasgonefrombehindtheMountain.Everythingintheroomhadturnedgreyandindistinct,andanautumnaldampnesscreptupfromthehollowbelowtheorchard,layingitscoldtouchontheirflushedfaces.Harneywalkedthelengthoftheroom,andthenturnedbackandsatdownatthetable.
“Come,”hesaidimperiously.
Shesatdownbesidehim,andheuntiedthestringaboutthepackageandspreadoutapileofsandwiches.
“Istolethemfromthelove-feastatHamblin,”hesaidwithalaugh,pushingthemovertoher.Shelaughedtoo,andtookone,andbegantoeat.
“Didn’tyoumakethetea?”
“No,”shesaid.
