Beyond the fact
that Blix had enjoyed herself in his company during the last
months, Condy could find no sign or trace of encouragement; and
for that matter he told himself that the indications pointed
rather in the other direction. She had no compunction in leaving
him to go away to New York, perhaps never to return. In less than
a month now all their companionship was to end, and he would
probably see the last of her.
He dared not let her know that at last he had really come to love
her--that it was no pretence now; for he knew that with such
declaration their "good times" would end even before she should go
away. But every day; every hour that they were together made it
harder for him to keep himself within bounds.
What with this trouble on his mind and the grim determination with
which he held to his work, Condy changed rapidly. Blix had
steadied him, and a certain earnestness and seriousness of
purpose, a certain STRENGTH he had not known before, came swiftly
into being.
Was Blix to go away, leave him, perhaps for all time, and not know
how much he cared? Would he speak before she went? Condy did not
know. It was a question that circumstances would help him to
decide. He would not speak, so he resolved, unless he was sure
that she cared herself; and if she did, she herself would give him
a cue, a hint whereon to speak. But days went by, the time set
for Blix's departure drew nearer and nearer, and yet she gave him
not the slightest sign.
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