For an instant a mad hope swelled in her—the vision of escaping with him into new scenes, a new life, away from the coil of memories that bound them down as in a net. But the reaction of reason came at once—she saw him cut off from his chosen work, his career destroyed, his honour clouded, above all—ah, this was what wrung them both!—his task undone, his people flung back into the depths from which he had lifted them. And all through her doing—all because she had clutched at happiness with too rash a hand! The thought stung her to passionate activity of mind—made her resolve to risk anything, dare anything, before she involved him farther in her own ruin. She felt her brain clear gradually, and the thickness dissolve in her throat.
"I understand," she said in a low voice, raising her eyes to his.
"And you're ready to accept the consequences? Think again before it's too late."
She paused. "That is what I should like...what I wanted to ask you...the time to think."
She saw a slight shade cross his face, as if he had not expected this failure of courage in her; but he said quietly: "You don't want me to go today?"
"Not today—give me one more day."
"Very well."
She laid a timid hand on his arm. "Please go out to Westmore as usual—as if nothing had happened. And tonight...when you come back...I shall have decided."
"Very well," he repeated.
"You'll be gone all day?"