He moved at last with a curious gesture as if he freed and restrained himself by the same action.
"Why don't you think out loud?" he said.
She raised her eyes for a moment. "I was thinking of my husband," she said.
He made a sharp movement—a movement that was almost fierce—and again seemed to take a fresh grip upon himself. His black brows met above his brooding eyes. "Can't you leave him out of the reckoning for this one night?" he asked.
"I think not," she answered quietly.
He turned his face to the sinking sun. It shone like a smouldering furnace behind bars of inky cloud.
"You told me once," he said, speaking with obvious constraint, "that you did not think you would ever live with him again."
She stifled a sigh in her throat. "I thought so then."
"And what has happened to make you change your mind?"
Anne was silent. She could not have seen the fire that leapt and darted in the dusky eyes had she been looking at him, but she was not looking. Her chin was back upon her hand. She was gazing out into the darkening world with the eyes of a woman who sees once more departed visions.