Armitage, taking that smile for a lessening of the tension of her mood, said:
"You'd much better put on your bonnet and shawl, and come home with me, Sophie. We can be married en route, or in Sydney if you like.... You know how pleased the old man'll be. And, as for me——"
Sophie's gaze swept past him, fretted lines deepening on her forehead.
Armitage threw away his cigarette, abandoning his assumption of familiar friendliness with the action, and went to her side. Sophie rose to meet him.
"Look here, Sophie," he said, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes, "let's have done with all this neurotic rot.... You're the only woman in the world for me. I don't know why you left me. I don't care.... Come home ... let's get married ... and see whether we can't make a better thing of it...."
Sophie had turned her eyes from his.
"When I've said that before, you wouldn't have anything to do with it," he continued. "You had a notion I was saying it because I ought—thought I had to, or the old man had talked me into it.... It wasn't true even then. I came here to say it ... so that you would believe I—want it, and I want you—more than anything on earth, Sophie."
There was no response, only an overshadowing of troubled thought in Sophie's face.
"Is there anything love or money can give you, girl, that I'm not eager to give you?" Armitage demanded. "What is it you want?... Do you know what you want?"
Sophie did not reply, and her silence exasperated him.