She clasped her hands round one knee, looked at him with half closed eyes. "I do not like to be regarded as part of some one's else belongings," said she. "I belong to myself."
"I wish to God you did!"
"You attach too much importance to what a woman says and does on impulse. I was much upset last night. I said and did things that seem absurd to me in daylight."
"I am just as absurd, as you call it, in daylight as I was in moonlight."
She flinched, controlled herself, made an impatient gesture. "Don't say those things, or you'll spoil everything," she half pleaded, half commanded.
He strode to a window across the room from that in which she was sitting. "Everything is spoiled. I've simply got to go."
"No." She shook her head slowly. "You will stay, and we'll be friends again, as before."
"If I could only wipe out last night!" he cried, and he wheeled upon her.
She caught her breath. "Do you mean that?" she asked impulsively.
He stopped short, faced her, but his eyes were down. "No, I don't," replied he. "And that's the devil of it."