Elizabeth, pre-occupied and shrinking from her own thoughts, could
not imagine what had happened. She had put off all her engagements
for the day, that she might help in any last arrangements that might
have to be made for Desmond.
But Desmond declined to be helped, not rudely, but with a decision,
which took Elizabeth aback.
'Mayn't I look out some books for you? I have found some more pocket
classics,' she had said to him with a smile, remembering his
application to her in the autumn.
'No, thank you. I shall have no time.' And with that, a prompt
retreat to Pamela and the Den. Elizabeth, indeed, who was all
eagerness to serve him, found herself rebuffed at every turn.
Nor were matters any better with Pamela, who had cried off her
hospital work in order to pack for Desmond. Elizabeth, seeing her
come downstairs with an armful of khaki shirts to be marked, offered
assistance--almost timidly. But Pamela's 'Thank you, but I'd rather
not trouble you--I can do it quite well'--was so frosty that
Elizabeth could only retire--bewildered--to the library, where she
and the Squire gave a morning's work to the catalogue, and never
said a word of farm or timber.
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