She rose to her feet also, shivering, her eyes closing, biting at her lower lip as though in suppressed pain. She shook her head.
“No, Harry, not now. I—I must go away now, go back.”
She turned and moved, with a curious detachment from him that reminded him somewhat of a sleep-walker, toward the door.
He jumped in front of her.
“You shall not go, Christine! You have come back—and you shall not go again!”
She opened anguished eyes at him.
“Harry,” she said in a tone of profound melancholy, “you know you cannot keep me like that. Remember the last time you tried to hold me caged behind a closed door!”
He did remember—the day when, disapproving of some intended excursion, he had, in a cold passion, turned the key upon her—the day he had come back to find a broken lock and curt note. He had learned his lesson. He stood aside from her path, entreated instead of dictating.
“Stay with me, Christine! Stay with me!”
She shook her head.