She saw a very brilliant little moon shining above the afterglow over the oaks. Quickly she got up and arranged herself; she was tidy. Then she went to the door of the hut.
All the lower wood was in shadow, almost darkness. Yet the sky overhead was crystal. But it shed hardly any light. He came through the lower shadow towards her, his face lifted like a pale blotch.
“Shall we go, then?” he said.
“Where?”
“I’ll go with you to the gate.”
He arranged things his own way. He locked the door of the hut and came after her.
“You aren’t sorry, are you?” he asked, as he went at her side.
“No! No! Are you?” she said.
“For that! No!” he said. Then after a while he added: “But there’s the rest of things.”
“What rest of things?” she said.
“Sir Clifford. Other folks. All the complications.”
“Why complications?” she said, disappointed.
“It’s always so. For you as well as for me. There’s always complications.” He walked on steadily in the dark.
“And are you sorry?” she said.
“In a way!” he replied, looking up at the sky. “I thought I’d done with it all. Now I’ve begun again.”