His heart began to beat more quickly. He turned his head but she was looking away. He could see only the curve of her long eyelashes. It seemed to him strange then that he had never noticed the likeness to Sabatini before. Her mouth, her forehead, the carriage of her head, were all his. He leaned towards her. There was something stirring in his heart then, something throbbing there, which seemed to bring with it a cloud of new and bewildering emotions. The whole world was slipping away. Something strange had come into the room.
"Ruth," he whispered, "will you look at me for a moment?"
She kept her head turned away.
"Don't!" she pleaded. "Don't talk to me just now. I can't bear it, Arnold."
"But I have something to say to you," he persisted. "I have something new, something I must say, something that has just come to me. You must listen, Ruth."
She held out her hand feverishly.
"Please, Arnold," she begged, "I don't want to hear—anything. I know how kind you are and how generous. Just now—I think it is the heat—be still, please. I can't bear anything."
Her fingers clutched his and yet kept him away. Every moment he was more confident of this thing which had come to him. A strange longing was filling his heart. The old days when he had kissed her carelessly upon the forehead seemed far enough away. Then, in that brief period of silence which seemed to him too wonderful to break, there came a little tap at the door. They both turned their heads.
"Come in," Arnold invited.
There was a moment's hesitation. Then the door was opened. Fenella entered. Arnold sprang to his feet.