“You'll only make a show of us.”
Mrs. Bellew put her hands on the cab door.
“I've a good mind to get out and dance with them!”
“You're mad to-night,” said George. “Sit still!”
He stretched out his arm and barred her way. The passers-by looked curiously at the little scene. A crowd began to collect.
“Go on!” cried George.
There was a cheer from the crowd; the driver whipped his horse; they darted East again.
It was striking twelve when the cab put them down at last near the old church on Chelsea Embankment, and they had hardly spoken for an hour.
And all that hour George was feeling:
'This is the woman for whom I've given it all up. This is the woman to whom I shall be tied. This is the woman I cannot tear myself away from. If I could, I would never see her again. But I can't live without her. I must go on suffering when she's with me, suffering when she's away from me. And God knows how it's all to end!'