Aloud
she said, sympathetically but decidedly:
"But she is not free, Mr. Ford. And the only thing you
can do is to go away in silence and leave her to her
own life."
"I know--I know," groaned Owen. He sat down on the
grassy bank and stared moodily into the amber water
beneath him. "I know there's nothing to do--nothing
but to say conventionally, `Good- bye, Mrs. Moore.
Thank you for all your kindness to me this summer,'
just as I would have said it to the sonsy, bustling,
keen-eyed housewife I expected her to be when I came.
Then I'll pay my board money like any honest boarder
and go! Oh, it's very simple. No doubt--no
perplexity--a straight road to the end of the world!
And I'll walk it--you needn't fear that I won't, Mrs.
Blythe. But it would be easier to walk over red-hot
ploughshares."
Anne flinched with the pain of his voice. And there
was so little she could say that would be adequate to
the situation. Blame was out of the question--advice
was not needed--sympathy was mocked by the man's stark
agony. She could only feel with him in a maze of
compassion and regret.
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