“You can go,” said Geoffrey cheerfully; “I prefer walking down.”
The man reluctantly descended and then Geoffrey rang.
Felicia leaned against the wall, seeing Maurice’s eyes as he had said good-bye to her, hearing his, “It seems to me an eternity before I shall see you again.” He had read her letter, alone. Remorse gave her the sense of swooning to all about her.
With almost a start she saw that Geoffrey still rang; and now he knocked as well.
“Maurice must be asleep,” she said.
Geoffrey, his finger pressed on the electric bell, nodded.
She had answered, “The eternity will pass.” It seemed an eternity. And it had passed. Yes, here she was again, before the familiar door, and in a moment he would see her.
“I should think that by now he would be awake. Don’t you think that he must be awake by now?” she repeated the question almost irritably as he did not answer her; adding, “Perhaps he guesses that it is we, and will not see us. Oh Geoffrey—Geoffrey. How could I have written such a letter!”
“It will be all right when you see each other. You must meet his despair, of course.” Geoffrey, his shoulder turned to her, continued to knock loudly. The draughty landing with its twilight square of window open to a damp brick wall, was vault-like in its cold; Felicia, clasping her arms, shivered.
Geoffrey presently said, “I shall have to break the glass and open the door.”