"It—is—is—n't—only that!"
"What, then?"
"I—I'll be back in a moment."
She ran into her bedroom, and Masters took a batch of proofs from his pocket and deliberately read them during the ten minutes of her absence. When she returned she had bathed her eyes, and looked quite composed. In truth she had taken sal volatile, and if despair was still in her soul her nerves no longer jangled.
He rose to hand her a chair, but she shook her head and walked over to the window, then returned and stood by the table, leaning on it as if to steady herself.
"Shall I get you a glass of port wine?"
"No; more than one goes to my head."
He threw the proofs on the table and retreated to the hearth-rug.
"I suppose this means that you must not come here any more?"
"Does it? Are you going to turn me adrift to bore myself at the Club?"