“Switzerland, I think. I could get away by the 3rd of April.” David was trying to think, but his head was very tired. He must go away. He must have a change. They all said that. But it was no use for him to go away if he did not sleep. He must have sleep. But if Elizabeth were with him he would sleep. Elizabeth must come with him. If they were married at once she could come with him, and then he would sleep. But it was so soon. He spoke his thought aloud. “You wouldn’t marry me first, I suppose? You wouldn’t come with me?” “Why not?” said Elizabeth quietly. The quietness hid the greatest effort of her life. “If you want me, I will come. I only want to help you, and if I can help you best that way——” David let himself sink into a chair, and began to talk a little of plans, wearily and with an effort. He had to force his brain to make it work at all. All these details, these plans, these conventions seemed to him irrelevant and burdensome. He got up to go as the clock struck seven. Elizabeth put out her hand to him as she had always done. “And you will let me help you?” “No, not yet—not till afterwards,” he said. “It makes no difference, David, you know. It is just what I would do for any one who wanted it——” He shook his head. There was a reaction upon him, a withdrawal. “Not yet—not till afterwards. I’ll give old Byng’s stuff a chance,” he said obstinately, and then went out with just a bare good-night. CHAPTER XIII MARCH GOES OUT I thought I saw the Grey Wolf’s eyes. The sun was gone away, Most unendurably gone down, With all delights of day. I cried aloud for light, and all The light was dead and done away, And no one answered to my call. Edward was, perhaps, the person best pleased at the news of Elizabeth’s engagement. He had been, as Mary phrased it, “very much put out.” Put out, in fact, to the point of wondering whether he could possibly nerve himself to tell David that he came too often to the house. He had an affection for David, and he was under an obligation to him, but there were limits—during the last fortnight he had very frequently explained to Mary that there were limits. Whether he would ever have got as far as explaining this to David remains amongst the lesser mysteries of life. Mary did not take the explanation in what Edward considered at all a proper spirit. She bridled, looked very pretty, talked about good influences, and was much offended when Edward lost his temper. He lost it to the extent of consigning good influences to a place with which they are not usually connected, though the way to it is said to be paved with good intentions. Mary had a temper, too. It took her out of the room with a bang of the door, but she subsequently cried herself sick because Edward had sworn at her.