‘No, you can do nothing else,’ she said, pressing each cheek with her handkerchief before putting it away.  ’Will you help me on with my cloak, Mr. Dagworthy?’

He took it from the chair, and held it for her.  Jessie, as if by accident, approached her face to his hand, and, before he saw her purpose, kissed his hard fingers.  Then she turned away, hiding her face.

Dagworthy dropped the garment, and stood looking at her.  He had a half contemptuous smile on his lips.  At this moment it was announced that the carriage was coming round.  Jessie caught at her cloak, and threw it over her shoulders.  Then, with sunk head, she offered to shake hands.

‘No use, Jessie,’ Dagworthy remarked quietly, without answering her gesture.

‘Of course, I know it’s no use,’ she said in a hurried voice of shame.  ‘I know it as well as you can tell me.  I wish I’d never come.’

‘But you don’t act badly,’ he continued.

‘What do you mean?’ she exclaimed, indignation helping her to raise her eyes for a moment.  ‘I’m not acting.’

‘You don’t mean anything by it—­that’s all.’

‘No, perhaps not.  Good-bye.’

’Good-bye.  I’m going away before very long.  I dare say I shan’t see you again before then.’

‘Where are you going to?’

‘Abroad.’

‘I suppose you’ll bring back a foreign wife,’ she said with sad scornfulness.

’No, I’m not likely to do that.  I shouldn’t wonder if I’m away for some time, though—­perhaps a couple of years.’

‘Years!’ she exclaimed in astonishment.

He laughed.

‘That startles you.  I shan’t be back in time for your wedding, you see.’

She sobbed again, averting her face.

’I shan’t ever be married.  I’m one of those wretched things nobody ever cares for.’

’You’ll have to show you deserve it.  Why, you couldn’t give your word and keep it for two years.’

Through this extraordinary scene Dagworthy was utterly unlike himself.  It was as if a man suffering physical agony should suddenly begin to jest and utter wild mirth; there was the same unreality in his behaviour.  Throughout it all the lines of his face never lost their impress of gloom.  Misery had its clutch upon him, and he was driven by an inexplicable spirit of self-mockery to burlesque the subject of his unhappiness.  He had no sense of responsibility, and certain instincts were strongly excited, making a kind of moral intoxication.

Jessie answered his question with wide eyes.

‘I couldn’t?—­Ah!’

She spoke under her breath, and with sincerity which was not a little amusing.

‘It’s New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?’ Dagworthy pursued, throwing out his words at random.  ’Be here this day two years—­or not, as you like.  I’m going to wander about, but I shall be here on that day—­that is, if I’m alive.  You won’t though.  Good-bye.’