"I know everything," he said.
Her white face quivered piteously. "And you—you are still angry?"
"No, I am not angry." He led her back to the sofa. "Sit down a minute," he said. "I don't think you are quite fit for this, and if you are going back with me to Valpré, you will need to reserve your strength."
He sat down beside her, both her hands firmly clasped in his, as if thereby he would impart to her the strength she lacked.
"You mean me to go, then?" murmured Chris.
"Don't you want to go?" he asked.
"If he really wants me—" she faltered. "And if you—you wish it, too."
"My dear," he said, "do my wishes make any real difference?"
She caught her breath sharply, and bent her head that he might not see her face. "Yes," she whispered, under her breath.
"Very well," he said, "I wish it, too."