Bit by bit, she unwrapped her true self from its manifold coverings and bared it to his eyes.
Till then, in spite of the curious intimacy she had built up during many months, he had never seen her as she really was.
The climax came in due time. She put down her glass.
"I s'pose—I really must go—now," she laughed. "I'm—all right now. But—" she yawned, stretched herself luxuriously, exactly like a cat, and smiled at him through drooping lids. "I really—don't want—to go. Why should I go—at all?"
She stood up languidly. From his lounging attitude, he straightened himself, too, and faced her, very stern, both hands at his side and clenched a little.
The situation—of which she had dreamed and which she had schemed for—had arrived. She felt that she had him fast—the great man whose life was Duty—had melted the heart of ice, hitherto invulnerable. Her vanity was on the point of being satisfied. She moved to satisfy it.
"Hector—" she whispered, "I'll—stay as—long as you like!"
And, both hands upon his shoulders, she tilted up her face and, very close, looked into his.
They stood there motionless, in a silence like death.
The strong face did not alter its expression. If any struggle was going on behind it, no sign of it was visible.