His voice had a ring of triumph in it. He kissed her hand. "Dinner as soon as you're ready," said he.
She laughed again and blushed as she opened the door and stood holding the handle.
"Won't you come in—just for a minute, Harry? I—I haven't changed this room at all."
"All is yours to change or to keep unchanged," said he.
"Oh, I've no reason for changing anything now. Everything's to be put back in the Long Gallery!" She paused, and then said again, "Won't you come in for just a minute, Harry?"
"I must go back to our friends downstairs," he answered.
The pretext was threadbare. What did the guests matter? They would do well enough. It had cost her something to ask—a little effort—since the request still seemed so strange, since its pleasure had a fear in it. And now she was refused.
"I ask you," she said, with a sudden haughtiness.
He stood looking at her a moment. There was a brisk step along the corridor.