He stood up from the table, crossed the room to where her hat was lying and picked it up.
"It's nearly eleven," he said quietly. "You'd better think of getting home."
She took the hat from him, then the pins. He watched her silently as she secured it to her head, not even appealing to him if it were straight. Slowly she drew on her gloves, shivering as her fingers fitted into the cold skin.
"I'm ready," she said, when all these things were done.
Traill went the round of the candles, blowing them out one by one, until the scent of the smoking wick was pungent in the air. Before the last, he stopped.
"You get to the door," he said.
Instead of obeying him, Sally walked firmly across to his side.
"We're not to meet again?" she asked.
"I didn't say that."
"But you will never bring me up to your rooms here again? As far as that goes, it finishes here?" She did not even stop to wonder at herself. The fears of losing him were spurs in her side.