"Will you come with me now?" she asked.
She herself could not tell under what impulse she spoke—whether it were in hope that at the last he might change, in the hope of convincing herself that he would never change. She watched him very intently, as though much hung on the answer that he gave.
Grantley seemed to weigh his answer too, looking at his wife with searching eyes. There was a patch of red on his cheeks. Evidently what she had said stirred him, and his composure was maintained only by an effort. At last he spoke:
"I'm sorry not to do anything you ask or wish, but as matters are, I will not come and see Frank with you."
"Why not?" she asked in a quick half-whisper.
His eyes were very sombre as he answered her.
"When you remember that you're my wife, I'll remember that you're the mother of my son. Till then you are an honoured and welcome guest in this house or in any house of mine."
Their eyes met; both were defiant, neither showed a hint of yielding. Sibylla drew in her breath in a long inhalation.
"Very well, I understand," she said.
He rose from his chair.