She made no reply for a moment, at a loss what to say, anxious to avoid saying anything that would furnish him with an excuse for a scene. Her only hope was in keeping him in good humor and persuading him to retire. It would be terrible if she had to endure the same horrible experience with him as on former occasions when he came home in this condition. Rising, she said quietly:
"I'm very tired, so I think I'll say good-night, dear."
She went towards her bedroom door, but before she could reach it, he had intercepted her. There was a determined, not to be denied look in his face as he exclaimed:
"Not just yet! Not just yet!"
Trembling in every limb, but endeavoring to remain calm, she looked up at him pleadingly:
"Please let me go," she said coaxingly. "Be a nice, good husband and say good-night—won't you, dear, please?"
He put his arm around her waist. Hoarsely, amorously, he whispered:
"Stay with me a little—I want you here."
"No, dear—please, dear!" she pleaded, quickly disentangling herself from his grasp. "You'll make me so happy if you will! Besides, it's quite late, remember, and I'm tired—I really am—"
He stood off a little way, looking more closely at her as if doubtful that she was speaking the truth.