“Perhaps. Yet, not to do it—or to let someone else attempt it—.”
He stopped, he could speak no more, he swept the alternative aside by a gesture, and they stood looking at one another.
“You are right,” she said at last in a low tone. “You are right. If it can be done... must go.”
Those days for not altogether
He moved a step towards her, and she stepped back, her white face struggled against him and resisted him. “No,” she gasped. “I cannot bear—. Go now.”
He extended his hands stupidly. She clenched her fists. “Go now,” she cried. “Go now.”
He hesitated and understood. He threw his hands up in a queer half-theatrical gesture. He had no word to say. He turned from her.
The man in yellow moved towards the door with clumsy belated tact. But Graham stepped past him. He went striding through the room where the Ward Leader bawled at a telephone directing that the aeropile should be put upon the guides.
The man in yellow glanced at Helen’s still figure, hesitated and hurried after him. Graham did not once look back, he did not speak until the curtain of the ante-chamber of the great hall fell behind him. Then he turned his head with curt swift directions upon his bloodless lips.