"No--not crossed--come together--run out together into the
high-road----" He clenched his hands till they were bloodless in the
effort to speak. "You see, a few weeks ago I wouldn't have lost my
temper--and I wouldn't have said queer, silly things like this----
I'm a sort of kaleidoscope that someone's shaken up. I don't know
myself; things have been hard--but awfully simple. I've only thought
of--wanted--the one thing. It doesn't seem to me that I've had to
fight until now. You don't understand--what it has been----"
"I do--I do!" she interrupted hurriedly. "I've seen Christine--and the
way you live--and that dreadful cupboard. Oh, I'm not sorry for
you--only afraid. You're nothing but a boy----"
"You needn't be afraid. I'll pull through. It's only another year
now. But I can't be like the other people you know--who can be jolly
and easy-going--because they're not going anywhere at all. Can't you
be patient, Francey?"
"Was I impatient?" He felt her humour flicker up like a flame in the
darkness. "I suppose I was. It was the jam-puff. You hurt their
feelings. And it was such a little thing."
"I hate jam-puffs," he said, but humbly, because it was not the truth,
and he could never explain.
"Come with us, Robert."
"I can't."
"But you want to come?"
"That's just it. I don't know why. It would be waste of
time--money--everything--all wrong. What have I to do with Howard and
that lot--with girls like Connie Edwards?"
"--and me," she added, smiling to herself.
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