"But, Marcia—"
Again she interrupted and again the voice was monotonous, almost lifeless.
"No, dear. All our silly little jokes—things that have come to be dear little traditions between us—would be mockeries now." She raised her chin, and said suddenly, with a forced laugh: "I don't often have these brain-storms. They make me very foolish. We must see less of each other, Paul."
"And yet," he stubbornly argued, "it has been only an hour since the basis of our comradeship was secure enough."
"In that hour we have come a long way, dear. It's going to be hard enough to get back as it is."
She stood still and, after a brief silence, spoke once more.
"I must brush these cobwebs away from my brain ... only—" suddenly her eyes flooded and there was a gasping sob in her voice—"only they aren't cobwebs—they are cables and chains! I was a fool to expect to be happy. I haven't been happy for years. I've never had what I've wanted.... I haven't even been able to have my baby with me." Marcia went slowly to a chair and sat staring, wide-eyed, at the wall. At last she looked up and commanded in a whisper. "You must go now—don't say good-by—just go!"
Paul took up his hat and let himself out into the narrow hall.