He put the letter into her hand, and she ran her eyes over the page. But she laid it down without comment.
A fear crossed his mind. "Don't misunderstand it," he said hastily. "You know that point was settled months ago. There's no question of going back for me now—and I'm glad of it. I never want to see England again. But it gave me a lot to think about—how the staying here was to be managed, and things like that."
He was conscious of becoming somewhat wordy; and as she did not respond, his uneasiness grew. In his anxiety to make her think as he did, he clasped his hand over hers.
"I needn't say again, need I, darling, what the past weeks have meant to me? I'm so grateful to you for them that I could only prove it with years of my life. But—and don't misunderstand this either, or think I don't love you more now than ever before—you know I do. But, look at it as we will, those weeks were play—glorious play, worth half one's existence, but still only play. They couldn't last for ever. Now we've come back, and we have to face work and the workaday world—you see what I mean, I'm sure?"
There was a note of entreaty in his voice. As she still kept silence, he gave his whole strength to demolishing the mute opposition he felt in her.
"From now on, dear, we must make up our minds to be two very sensible people. I've an enormous amount of work to get through, in the coming months. And at Easter, I shall probably be thrown on my own resources. But I'll fight my way somehow—here, beside you. We'll live our own life. Just you and I.—Let me tell you what I propose to do,"—and here, he laid before her, in their entirety, his plans for winning over Schwarz, for gaining a foothold, and for making a modest income. "A good PRUFUNG," he concluded, "and I'll be able to get anything I want out of him. In the meantime, I've got to make a decent job next month of the trio—I'm pretty well in his black books, I can guess, for going off as I did in July. I must work as I've never done before. Each single day must be mapped out, and nothing allowed to interfere. It's an undertaking; but you'll help me, won't you, darling?—as only you can. I've let things go, far too much—I see it now. But it was impossible—frankly, I didn't care. I only wanted you. Now, it will ... it must be different. The unrest is gone; you belong to me, and I to you. We are sure of each other."
"Oh, it's stifling! There's no air in the room."
She rose from his side, and went to the open window, where she stood with her back to him. As a result of his words, her life seemed suddenly to stretch before her, just as dry, and dusty, and commonplace, as the street she looked down on.
"I want to show you, too," he continued behind her, "that you haven't utterly thrown yourself away. I know how little I can do; but honest endeavour must count for something. I ask nothing better than to work for you, Louise—and you know it."
A wave of warm air came in at the window; the dying afternoon turned to twilight.