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.'
`Begun what?'
`Life.'
`Life!' she re-echoed, with a queer thrill.
`It's life,' he said. `There's no keeping clear. And if you do keep clear you might almost as well die. So if I've got to be broken open again, I have.'
She did not quite see it that way, but still `It's just love,' she said cheerfully.
`Whatever that may be,' he replied.
They went on through the darkening wood in silence, till they were almost at the gate.
`But you don't hate me, do you?' she said wistfully.
`Nay, nay,' he replied. And suddenly he held her fast against his breast again, with the old connecting passion. `Nay, for me it was good, it was good. Was it for you?'
`Yes, for me too,' she answered, a little untruthfully, for she had not been conscious of much.
He kissed her softly, softly, with the kisses of warmth.
`If only there weren't so many other people in the world,' he said lugubriously.
She laughed. They were at the gate to the park. He opened it for her.
`I won't come any further,' he said.
`No!' And she held out her hand, as if to shake hands. But he took it in both his.
`Shall I come again?' she asked wistfully.
`Yes! Yes!'
She left him and went across the park.