He recoiled in an access of uncontrollable anger. She followed him. Speechless, he eluded her, and went for his hat.
'Geoffrey,' she cried, 'don't go before you hear me. I don't know if what I think matters to you now, but I hope it does. You can still'—her voice was faint with tears—'still make me think of you without shrinking—if you will.'
He fixed her for a moment with eyes more stern than she had ever seen.
'What is it you are asking of me?' he said.
'To make amends, Geoffrey.'
His anger went out on a wave of pity. 'You poor little innocent!'
'I'm poor enough. But'—she locked her hands together like one who summons all her resolution—'I'm not so innocent but what I know you must right that old wrong now, if you're ever to right it.'
'You aren't insane enough to think I would turn round in these few hours and go back to something that ten years ago was ended forever!' As he saw how unmoved her face was, 'Why,' he burst out, 'it's stark, staring madness!'
'No!' She caught his arm. 'What you did ten years ago—that was mad. This is paying a debt.'