"I did not know you had been obliged to do that, or I would long ago—"
"But I was not obliged to do it; I wanted to. You see I have plenty of money. But it does not matter in the least, for I still have your ring."
"Well, whether it is my ring or not, you have not done me a favour by this. I want you to keep your things. I am not so altogether down and out, even if I have had to let some of my help go."
She bowed her head. He walked over to the window; when he turned back he noticed that she was looking at him; her eyes were candid and open. He grew confused and turned his back to her again. No, he could not speak to her of moving now; let her stay on awhile if she wanted to. But he would at least try to persuade her to cease this strange manner of living; there was no sense in that; besides, she was getting thin and pale.
"Don't be offended, but ought you not—Not for my sake, of course, but for your own—"
"Yes, I know," she interrupted, afraid of letting him finish; "time passes, and I haven't moved yet."
He forgot what he intended to say about her housekeeping eccentricities; he caught only her last words.
"I cannot understand you. You have had your way; nothing binds you any more. You can be Hanka Lange now as much as you like; you surely know that I am not holding you back."
"No," she answered. She rose and took a step toward him. She held out her hand to him in a meaningless way, and when he did not take it, she dropped it to her side limply, with burning cheeks. She sank into her chair again.
"No, you are not holding me back—I wanted to ask you—Of course, I have no right to expect that you will let me, but if you would—if I could remain here awhile yet? I would not be as I was before—I have changed a good deal, and so have you. I cannot say what I want to—"