“Oh!” exclaimed Artemis, in sudden pain. “Marseilles is a long way off, isn’t it?”
“Yes, a very long way. I shall be there for a year.”
His voice was cold, his manner distant. He took a cigar from his pocket and began to smoke it.
“Won’t you drink your wine?” he asked.
She sipped it for a moment, and then put the glass down.
“I don’t want it,” she said. “I—I think I’d like to go home.”
“Shall I order you a cab?”
“Oh, no, no! I will walk.”
They rose simultaneously.
“Please stay where you are,” she said; “I would much rather go by myself. Good-night.”