She swept along, and I followed, bringing up close to Desmond, who had his hand round his head, and was very pale, either from the effect of the blow or some other cause. Even the flush across his cheeks had faded. She looked at him sharply; he moved his hands from his head, and met her eyes. "I am not drunk, you see," he said in a low voice. She made an insulting gesture toward me, which meant, "Is this an adventure of yours?"
The blaze in her eyes kindled a more furious one in his; he stepped forward with a threatening motion.
Anger raged through me—like a fierce rain that strikes flat a violent sea. I laid my hand on her arm, which she snapped at like a wolf, but I spoke calmly:
"You tender, true-hearted creature, full of womanly impulses, allow me to light my candle by yours!"
I picked it from the hearth, lighted it, and held it close to her face, laughing, though I never felt less merry. But I had restrained him.
He took the candle away gently.
"Leave the room," he said to her.
She beckoned me to go.
"No, you shall go."
They made a simultaneous movement with their hands, he to insist, she to deprecate, and I again observed how exactly alike they were.