Adair's side. She, however, lagged, and when she spoke
it was in a despondent voice.
"So you are going," she said. "In two days' time you will be at
Wiesbaden and Ethne at Glenalla. We shall all be scattered. It will be
lonely here."
She had had her way; she had separated Ethne and Durrance for a time at
all events; she was no longer to be tortured by the sight of them and
the sound of their voices; but somehow her interference had brought her
little satisfaction. "The house will seem very empty after you are all
gone," she said; and she turned at Durrance's side and walked down with
him into the garden.
"We shall come back, no doubt," said Durrance, reassuringly.
Mrs. Adair looked about her garden. The flowers were gone, and the
sunlight; clouds stretched across the sky overhead, the green of the
grass underfoot was dull, the stream ran grey in the gap between the
trees, and the leaves from the branches were blown russet and yellow
about the lawns.
"How long shall you stay at Wiesbaden?" she asked.
"I can hardly tell. But as long as it's advisable," he answered.
"That tells me nothing at all. I suppose it was meant not to tell me
anything.
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