But firmly now he held her back.
“Felicia, you must wait here. Maurice may be ill.”
She had seized his arms to push by him and they stood clutching each other in the brilliant light.
“Ill!” she repeated. “And I am not to go to him! My husband!”
Something in her stricken face, her fixed eyes, made him yield.
“Come then, let us go together.”
“No.” Her thrust against him did not relax. “I must go alone; I must see him alone; I must speak to him alone.”
Geoffrey clasped his arm around her. “Felicia, understand me, you shall not go alone. We are too near to be separated—in this. We must go together.”
He saw that his words tore from her mind the veil that covered horror. She submitted, grasping, yet pushing from her, the arm that held her.
“To our room—first. The light is turned in the same place—near the door.”