She stopped because the door was opening.
“It's Jem,” he said sharply. “Ann, let's go.” And that instant Little Ann was near him.
“No! no! don't go,” cried Lady Joan.
Jem Temple Barholm came in through the doorway. Life and sound and breath stopped for a second, and then the two whirled into each other's arms as if a storm had swept them there.
“Jem!” she wailed. “Oh, Jem! My man! Where have you been?”
“I've been in hell, Joan—in hell!” he answered, choking,—“and this wonderful fellow has dragged me out of it.”
But Tembarom would have none of it. He could not stand it. This sort of thing filled up his throat and put him at an overwhelming disadvantage. He just laid a hand on Jem Temple Barholm's shoulder and gave him an awkwardly friendly push.
“Say, cut me out of it!” he said. “You get busy,” his voice rather breaking. “You've got a lot to say to her. It was up to me before;—now, it's up to you.”
Little Ann went with him into the next room.
The room they went into was a smaller one, quiet, and its oriel windows much overshadowed by trees. By the time they stood together in the center of it Tembarom had swallowed something twice or thrice, and had recovered himself. Even his old smile had come back as he took one of her hands in each of his, and holding them wide apart stood and looked down at her.