Chalfont went over to her chair, sat on its arm-rest and took one of her hands.
"Don't you think we have something in common?" he said, and waited for a reply that should warrant him speaking more definitely.
She rested her head against his shoulder like one who is spent.
"You make me feel peaceful," she murmured. "I wish you would give me some poison and let me die while you held me."
"You tragic person!" He tried to speak lightly. "You'll laugh at yourself, later on.... I want you to live."
"I'll live," she consented. "It's only a matter of breathing."
"You must promise me that—and something else."
"All right. What's the else?" Her voice was unutterably tired.
"Everything, in effect. I'm not good at explaining, but, first of all, I want you to understand that I honor you."
Maggy sat bolt upright. Two fierce spots of color came into her cheeks.