Marriott waited a moment, perhaps in his inability to forego the theatrical possibilities of the situation.
"She wants you--to come to her."
Elizabeth stared at him blankly.
"To come to her?"
"Yes."
"In prison?"
"Yes."
Her brows contracted, her eyes winked rapidly.
"But Gordon, how--how can I?"
"I don't know." He sat at his ease in the great chair, enjoying the meaning, the whole significance of her predicament. He had already appreciated its difficulties, its impossibilities, and he was prepared now to wring from every one of them its last sensation. Elizabeth, with her elbow on the arm of her chair, her laces falling away from her white forearm, bit her lip delicately. She seemed to be looking at the toe of her suede shoe.