She stood for a moment looking at him, her eyes burning. Her peignoir fell in long, graceful lines, suggesting her gracile figure. One braid had fallen over her shoulder across her breast to below her waist. Her beauty smote his senses.
"To-morrow is Saturday," he said. "I shall come up to see your father in the afternoon. You had better be away, if you can."
"I shall be away," she said dully.
"I'll have it out with him—settle it beyond all doubt, and then—"
"And then?"
"I shall try to show you what you have made of me. I shall not see you till we have conquered this thing!"
"Oh, Francis, if I could only feel that it is wrong—but I can't. It seems so right, so natural. I shall not change. I have given myself to you, and I can not take myself back. If there is fighting against it to be done, you must do it for both of us. You must decide."
"I shall take care of you, Clytie. That will be my brother's duty."
"Yes," she said, drooping, "you must help me, I can't help you any more. I have done what I can, but you have passed me now, and you are the master."
"I must begin now, then, and go. Good-by!"