"But suppose I never pass through mine! You have not answered my question," he said determinedly. "Does this make no difference in your feeling for me? Would it make none?"
"Will you bring me that book on the religions of the world?"
"Ah," he said, "you have not answered."
"I have told you that I am not your judge."
"Ah, but that tells nothing: a woman is never a judge. She is either with one or against him."
"Which do I look like?"—she laughed evasively—"Mercy or Vengeance? And have you forgotten that it is late—too late to ask questions?"
He stood, comprehending her doubtfully, with immeasurable joy, and then went out to get his overcoat.
"Bring your things in here," she said, "it is cold in the hall. And wrap up warmly! That is more important than all the Genevan and the homiletical!"
He bade her good night, subdued with happiness that seemed to blot out the troublous past, to be the beginning of new life. New happiness brought new awkwardness:—
"This was not my regular night," he said threateningly. "I came to-night instead of to-morrow night."