“I don’t know,” he said. He was looking at her, his dark hair in his eyes. He pushed it back.
“You’re not sad?”
“No.” He ran his hands over her hips. “I was only wondering what’s to happen next. You’ll go back to Europe.”
She had been waiting for this. She had been waiting for him to ask this. Now she could say what she felt but the words did not come easily. “I don’t have to go back,” she said. “I can stay here as long as I like.”
“Then your husband’ll come over here.”
“I can leave him.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t marry you.”
She was lost. She was falling now. It seemed as if the room had become cold and foreign and she had come to a hostile country. There was no longer an answer to make: the answer had been made. She tried not to let her face show what she felt.
“Why couldn’t you marry me?”
“I haven’t any money.”