"Because I wanted to feel for myself what there is in it. I wanted to see what there is in sheer motion that makes it worth while to add to ten hours a day, three more of real, physical effort."
"Do you know, now?" Why didn't she move farther away? Jerome felt as if she were touching him, and, at the same time, as if his body were formed of the hot dust. "Do you?"
"You would have to try it for yourself," Jean answered coldly, annoyed at this fastidity of objection. "It does get you. There's something——"
"So it seems. Does the success of the experiment demand further investigation?"
"Let's go."
Without another word, they walked the length of the pier and out again through the small door. As they walked in silence back to the apartment, through the chaos in Jerome, a little thread of shame and regret drew him almost to the point of speech. What must Jean be thinking? He could not part from her like this? And yet, when he tried to grasp and hold a thought in words, it burst like a rocket from his control, in a shower of scorching sparks, looks, the feel of Jean's cool fingers, the maddening composure of her clear, gray eyes.
They reached the door with the silence unbroken.
"Good-night." Jean made no conciliatory reference to the next appointment, as she turned to the vestibule with an impersonal smile that did not touch her eyes.
In another second she would be up there alone in the inhuman detachment of her roof.
"Good-night." He held out his hand and, for a moment, hers lay in it, strong, cool, and burning the whole surface of his palm. He almost flung it from him. "Good-night," he repeated thickly and was gone.