But he sat down on the sofa and began to cry forlornly, like a child.
“Stop!” she said. “Stop! Miss Eppendorfer’ll hear you.”
“I can’t!” he sobbed.
She closed the door into the hall, and went back to the sofa to find him incredibly and suddenly asleep. She couldn’t at first believe in a slumber so very sudden. She shook him.
“Get up and go away!” she said, but it had no effect. There he lay, breathing heavily through his mouth, flushed, oddly serious in his expression, like a weary victor in some mighty struggle.
Frances gave way to a sort of frenzy.
“I can’t have two of you!” she cried.
Recklessly she opened the door of Miss Eppendorfer’s room, found her also sound asleep, not to be wakened. She revolted utterly then, locked herself into her own little room, careless of what might happen to those others.
For the first time in her life she remained awake all night. Early in the morning, before it was quite light, she slipped into the kitchen to make tea, and then went again to wake Lionel. This time it was not so hard. She gave him a cup of tea, stood in stony silence while he gulped it down, handed him his hat and overcoat, and firmly pushed him, dazed and passive, out of the door.