Good-bye." Without waiting for her to speak, he turned away from her and hurried back towards the road that led to the Hermitage, leaving Hetty to pursue her way in a strange dream that seemed to have begun in bewildering delight and was now passing into contrarieties and sadness.

Would he meet her again as she came home?
Why had he spoken almost as if he were displeased with her?
And then run away so suddenly?
She cried, hardly knowing why.
Arthur too was very uneasy, but his feelings were lit up for him by a more distinct consciousness.

He hurried to the Hermitage, which stood in the heart of the wood, unlocked the door with a hasty wrench, slammed it after him, pitched Zeluco into the most distant corner, and thrusting his right hand into his pocket, first walked four or five times up and down the scanty length of the little room, and then seated himself on the ottoman in an uncomfortable stiff way, as we often do when we wish not to abandon ourselves to feeling.
He was getting in love with Hetty--that was quite plain.

He was ready to pitch everything else--no matter where--for the sake of surrendering himself to this delicious feeling which had just disclosed itself.

It was no use blinking the fact now--they would get too fond of each other, if he went on taking notice of her--and what would come of it?
He should have to go away in a few weeks, and the poor little thing would be miserable.