"Till you want me back—till you ask me to come back." He looked at her questioningly. "It must be one thing or the other," she went on.
"It's for me to decide what it shall be."
"Yes; which of the two possible things. It's for you to decide that. But this state of things isn't possible. If you don't want me back, well, we must make arrangements. If you ask me to come back, you'll mean that you want to forget all this wretchedness and be really friends." Her feeling broke out. "Yes, friends again," she repeated, holding her arms out towards him.
"You seem to think things are very easily forgotten," he growled.
"God knows I don't think so," she said. "Do you really think that's what I've learnt from life, John?"
"At any rate I've got to forget them pretty easily!"
She would not trust herself to argue lest in the heat of contention that one forbidden weapon should leap into her hand.
"We can neither of us forget. But there's another thing," she said.
He would not give up his idea, his theory of what she deserved and of what morality demanded.
"You may go for a visit. I shall expect you back in two or three weeks."